Emptiness
by JennyWren
Summary: This story is about the wounds loss can tear into our hearts. And about two men trying to deal with them. ER Slash
1. Chapter One

**Emptiness **

**Author´s note I: **This story deals with homosexuality. Between Erik and Raoul. In a rather explicit way. So if you don´t like that, I advise you to stop reading. And if you´re just looking for pointless sex, this isn´t the right story either.

**Author´s note II: **I´ve made one important change of canon: Raoul´s brother Philippe is still alive. He doesn´t appear in the story, but he´s necessary for Raoul´s background.

**Dedication:** I dedicate this story to **Black Priestess**, who showed me that sometimes we have to become someone else in order to stay ourselves.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from "The Phantom of the Opera". They belong to Gaston Leroux / Andrew Lloyd Webber.

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I wouldn´t have believed I´d arrive here unharmed. I had been sure I´d be strangled or drown before I reached his lair. Yet nothing like that had happened. What a pity – it would have made things easier for me. I wouldn´t have stood in front of his door now, considering whether I should knock. Did people usually knock at the door of their enemies? Or did they simply walk inside? They probably never went to their houses in the first place.

Maybe I should have left as well. It wasn´t too late yet. If I was lucky, he hadn´t even noticed I was here. I had almost made up my mind when I realised something was strange about that entrance door. It was slightly open, although it certainly hadn´t been open a minute ago. I gave a soundless sigh. So much for my theory that he didn´t know I was here… Now I had to go inside.

Hesitantly I pushed it open a little more, just enough for me to squeeze through the gap. As soon as I stood in the corridor I looked around, but no one was there. Was this one of his tricks? I closed the door, the sound much louder than it usually would have been. Now it was almost completely dark. The only light came from the lantern I had brought with me. Yet while I was glancing at its candle, making sure it would burn for a little while, an icy gust of wind streamed through the corridor and blew it out.

It had to be a trap. Hastily I grabbed the door handle, but all of a sudden it didn´t budge. "You want to leave already?" a voice whispered, so close to my ear that I jumped and spun around, only to see… nothing. "Give me a chance to prove my hospitality! Take the second door to the right!" Now that he had mentioned it I noticed a faint light. I walked towards it – what else should I have done? Anything was better than standing in the dark.

The room I found myself in as I opened the right door was some kind of sitting room. There were a few bookshelves, a piano and a divan standing behind a low table. And on the divan sat… he, the Phantom. "M. le Vicomte!" he exclaimed with mock cheerfulness, raising his wine glass in an exaggerated gesture. "How nice of you to visit me! Did you miss me that much? It can´t have been more than four months since the last time we met…"

Could it be possible that he was drunk? That would have been ideal, of course. I could have simply said what I was here to and be gone in a matter of minutes. What did I care if he´d still remember it in the morning? Yet as I drew nearer, placing the useless lantern on the table, I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were as cold as ice and told me that he was perfectly aware of what was happening.

"M le Fantome…" I greeted him with a slight nod. "I am here because I… because…" Why did he have to stare at me like that? It was most unnerving. At home I had known all the right phrases – I had even practiced a reserved, matter-of-fact way of speaking. Yet nothing of it worked anymore. All I could do was get it out quickly without looking at him. Glancing down at my feet I said: "Christine is… dead. She died yesterday afternoon. She hadn´t been feeling well for weeks… nervous disease, the doctor says. There was nothing he could do… I just thought someone should tell you…".

"I´ve already known it." His words made me look up in surprise. "B-but… how?", I stammered. "The obituary in the newspaper," he explained shortly. "I do read the paper, you know." I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It was only a small one, much too small," I muttered. "But I didn´t have a lot of money. It all belongs to my family, and they… they refused to give me more."

I wasn´t certain that he had heard me at all, for he just uttered: "It said ´Christine Daaé´. So you weren´t married yet?". Shaking my head slightly I replied: "No. It would have happened next month… That´s why I did get more money from them. For them she wasn´t… part of the family… just some singer…". I had tried to hold back my feelings, but now it was no longer possible. My eyes welled up with tears.

He gave a sigh. "Do you want to tell me what you´re really here for?" he asked. "Or do you prefer standing there like a stupid little boy, crying your eyes out?" He pointed at the other end of the divan, and I sat down. I was aware that if I dissolved into tears, it would be easier to hide when I didn´t stand in front of him.

"´What I´m really here for´? What is that supposed to mean?", I wanted to know warily. Although it was clear that the topic of Christine would come up again, it was good to concentrate on something else for a moment. Waiting for his reply I turned my head in the other direction briefly and dabbed at my eyes with a handkerchief. "You knew I read the newspaper," he answered. "Christine told you so on your way out, shortly after I had asked her to bury me when the announcement would be in the ´Epoque´. You were still in my world, remember? I heard you. So you can´t have come to tell me about her death. Why are you here, Vicomte?"

I could almost feel his gaze bore into the back of my head, trying to break open my skull and drag my innermost thoughts to the light. Quickly I looked at him again. Those strange golden eyes were staring at me, making me feel very small and vulnerable. Perhaps it was time for the truth. "My family… they don´t understand why I´m so sad," I whispered. "In their opinion marrying Christine would have been the worst mistake in my life. They think I should be happy because I´ve got rid of my fiancée this easily. And my brother is the worst. He said if I had developed a liking for singers, we could go to the opera and… and find me a new one! He doesn´t even let me mourn properly…"

"Oh…", he made, putting down his wine glass. "And now you´ve come to me of all people and expect me to hold your hand and let you cry at my shoulder and tell you that everything will be all right? I´m sorry, but it doesn´t work that way." His sarcasm cut through me like a sharp knife. To my horror I noticed that my vision grew blurred again; before long I´d be crying. "I thought… you´d understand me…" I murmured. "I understand you perfectly well," he spat, his voice as cold as his eyes. "You´re a spoilt little boy whose favourite toy is broken. You never deserved Christine. Why don´t you go with your lecher of a brother and let him buy you a new chorus girl? He´s had all of them – he knows which ones are best!"

Glancing at him incredulously I felt something inside me change. A part of my sadness was replaced by anger. It was not because he had offended my brother; he was right about him. But he had questioned my love for Christine. Before I knew what I was doing I had reached over and seized him by his bony shoulders. "I love Christine!" I shouted, shaking him wildly. "I love her… so much… and it hurts… so much that… I don´t think I can stand it… My heart… it calls for her, but… there´s no reply… Why did she have to die? Why?"

At some point I couldn´t go on. I was panting, choking on my own sobs, and tears were streaming down my face. I felt more exhausted than ever before in my life. Even remaining in an upright position seemed too hard. I simply let myself fall forwards, my head resting at his shoulder. Shedding a few more silent tears I realised he had been right about me as well, at least to some extend: I was a boy who needed to be comforted. I needed someone who didn´t tell me to stop crying and act like a grown-up. I needed someone who was there for me. Honestly I didn´t believe he possessed any of those qualities, but at least he hadn´t pushed me away yet.

Tentatively I wrapped my arms around his thin frame, and he let me do it. It felt good, very good. Apart from my sisters in our childhood, only Christine had ever been this close to me. The Phantom didn´t move, but after a few moments he started speaking. "I miss her, too. I missed her those four months as well, yet at least I could be sure she was fine. I imagined her going out in the evening, wearing beautiful dresses, and everybody liking her at once. She deserved so much happiness, after all the trouble she had had here at the opera… Besides, I didn´t lose her completely. She was with me every day and every night in my thoughts and dreams. She came to me and told me she was sorry and kissed me… But now I can´t bear having those thoughts anymore. I miss her so much. Without her my life is so…"

"…empty," I finished automatically, barely realising I had said anything. It hadn´t been my intention to interrupt him. Unlike his body, his voice was as soft as velvet now. I could have listened to him for hours. Moreover, he was the first person for a very long time who spoke friendly of Christine. And even though I wouldn´t have thought it possible, his words made me pity him. I had at least had four months with her. He had nothing, just the memory of an embrace and a kiss.

A kiss… At last I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked at him, our faces only inches apart. He seemed to be as sad as I was. There were even tears glistening in his eyes. He also needed someone to comfort him. Could I be that someone? What would happen if I closed the space between us and kissed him? I didn´t think about it. I simply acted, pressing my lips against his clumsily.

For a moment he grew rigid in my arms, and I was about to stop, an apology already forming in my head. Yet before I could move his arms had sneaked around my waist, pulling me closer till I sat sideways on his lap. My legs were dangling down at one side, and I had to bend my body at a very awkward angle to reach his lips, but I didn´t care. All that mattered was the kiss. He ran his tongue over my bottom lip questioningly, and I opened my mouth at once. We both inhaled sharply as our tongues made contact for the first time. Little shivers ran down my spine as one of his hands moved upwards and began to massage my scalp while the kiss grew more and more heated. I moaned into his mouth.

Although it was just a soft sound, it seemed to bring us to our senses. Our eyes met, and we broke apart. It was only then that I realised what I had done: I had kissed a man. I had kissed _this_ man. "Oh God…" I breathed. "I´m sorry… I didn´t mean to…" "Who are you talking to?", he asked in an irritated voice. "If you want to confess the hideous crime of having kissed a man, go and find a priest!" I was so surprised by his sudden harshness that I merely shook my head, unable to give a verbal reply.

Still he understood me instantly. "So you did talk to me," he stated. "And you didn´t want to kiss me. Why did you do it then? Was it an accident? Did you mean to slap me and forgot how it was done, so that you had to try the next best thing?" His sarcasm was back, worse than ever. It was as if he regretted his moment of weakness and made me pay for it. I had to clear my throat before I answered: "You were sad… and I was sad… and I thought I could make it better for both of us…". My words made it sound like an extremely stupid idea, and judging by his raised eyebrow he thought the same.

Maybe I had to explain it in more detail, to make him see things from my point of view. "I know that emptiness you talked about," I told him in a gentle voice. "There´s this big hole in my chest where my heart used to be. The wind is caught in it, howling. So there´s always something inside me crying…" A fresh wave of tears was preparing itself to flood my eyes, but I forced myself to continue: "When we kissed I hoped the hole would close, at least for a moment.".

"And did it work?" How peculiar that this was his only question! "Well… yes…" I admitted, blushing slightly. "I felt good… really good." "So did I," he murmured so softly that I almost missed it. But I did hear it, and it made me smile. We looked at each other, and in the next moment our lips met again. The second kiss was a little less awkward than the first one. ´He liked it, he liked it!´ a small voice was rejoicing in my head, while our tongues moved from my mouth into his and back.

My joy lasted for about a minute. Then he moved his arm, trying to bring me into a more comfortable position. His hand brushed over the junction of my legs… and to my horror I realised that I was hard. I pulled back my head at once, my face turning scarlet. It was one thing to be comforted by kissing another man. I could justify it by my confusion, or maybe because my brother acted that coldly towards me; I hadn´t quite decided yet. But it was a completely different thing to be aroused by it.

"This is all wrong!" I whispered. "You´re a man, and I´m a man, too…" "I´m aware of these facts," he stated dryly. "But thank you for pointing them out to me in this… impressive way." An amused smile spread across his face when he touched the same spot as before. I gasped as the bulge in my trousers grew bigger. Quickly I seized him by the wrist, but for some reason my hand only pressed his against my crotch more firmly. It took me a few moments to push it aside.

Trying to look at him sternly I declared: "Men don´t kiss other men. Only men and women do these things.". I couldn´t help thinking that it would have sounded much better if my voice hadn´t been shaking. "The world isn´t as simple as in your books of fairytales," he said. "Sometimes a prince likes another prince better, or a princess another princess." ´I know all that!´ I wanted to tell him. Despite my sheltered upbringing I wasn´t completely naïve. I was aware that some men enjoyed another man´s touch. I just hadn´t believed I could be one of them, so I tried to take refuge in the things I had heard over and over. Before I could say anything he had already continued. "But of course that never happens in your elitist circles! The future Comte de Chagny is allowed to know about every perversion, as long as it could result in the production of an heir…" He gave a snort of laughter.

"But… but…" I stammered, without a clear idea of what I wanted to say now. "No ´buts´, Vicomte," he said sharply. "You just have to decide: You can either go home, lock yourself in your room and spend all night imagining what could have happened or you stay here and actually experience it." At last I had found an argument at the back of my mind. Ignoring the choice he wanted me to make I asked: "But don´t you… hate me anymore?". Instead of an immediate reply he ran a hand through my hair. With anyone else I´d have called it a loving gesture, yet in connection with him the word still seemed strange.

As he brought his hand up to cup my cheek he answered: "Not at the moment. I don´t know about tomorrow or next week, but at the moment… Ever since I´ve read the newspaper this morning I´ve pondered on how I´ll be able to survive without Christine. When you came I was about to start drinking myself into oblivion, just to make all those thoughts stop. And then you were there… so scared and hurt, even though you desperately tried to hide it…". His fingers moved up and down my smooth cheek, and I leaned into his touch, listening to that beautiful voice. "…and I waited for the old feeling of hatred to build up. It didn´t come. On the contrary: The longer you were there, the more I realised you´re not the man I used to hate. You haven´t taken Christine from me – Christine has been taken from both of us."

At the mentioning of Christine a single tears made its way down my face. He caught it with his index finger and wiped it away. His finger was still slightly salty as he traced my lips with it. All the time he continued talking. "When we kissed, it felt unlike anything I´ve ever experienced. For a moment I dared hope the pain might go away… for both of us. So I think we should go on. If you want to, that is…" "Of course I want to," I assured him, pressing a soft kiss to his fingertip. I hadn´t been entirely sure before, but after hearing those words, so similar to my own thoughts, I was.

"But I have to warn you!" I added quickly, earning a very annoyed glance. "I know we´ve talked more than enough…" He nodded emphatically. "It´s just… I´ve never done anything like this before. Christine and I… we wanted to wait until after the wedding… So you mustn´t be angry if I do everything wrong." I could feel that my face had taken its favourite colour of the evening, scarlet, again. Yet he merely raised a eyebrow. "Honestly, Vicomte, how many lovers do you think a man like me has had in his life?", he asked, lifting my chin, so that I had to look at him. My gaze fell upon his mask, and as I recalled what lay beneath it, I knew I couldn´t give the reply that was on my mind. It would have been comforting for me, but very rude for him. So all I uttered was "Erm…", which could mean about anything. "Not a single one," he answered his own question. He had no idea how relieved this made me feel.

He was about to kiss me when I stopped him yet again. "One more thing… Could you perhaps call me ´Raoul´ instead of ´Vicomte´?", I asked shyly. He nodded briefly, his hands already at the buttons of my jacket. "And… you are…?", I prompted. "You know more than one of my names," he muttered. "Phantom, Opera Ghost…" "Don´t you have something a little more personal… like a first name?", I persisted. Moving his head slightly he whispered into my ear: "It´s Erik.". I gave him a warm smile, feeling as if I had been entrusted with a big secret.

As he already was at my ear, he kissed the earlobe gently, then trailed over my cheek and to my mouth. I parted my lips readily for his probing tongue, hardly aware of his fingers opening my jacket deftly. It was only when he broke the kiss and tugged at my collar that I noticed what he was doing. Quickly I shrugged off the piece of clothing and let it fall to the floor behind me.

Now I was getting keen on seeing more of him as well. He wasn´t wearing a jacket, just a white shirt, not unlike my own. Yet in my current position I couldn´t reach it very well. Erik seemed to see my problem, for he said: "Get your leg over here!" and patted the other side of the divan. Understanding, I stood up for a moment, got rid of my shoes, and sat down again, straddling him. Apart from our legs, no other parts of our bodies were touching yet, but that was something I planned to change. I leaned forwards to kiss him again, while my hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Yet my fingers were sweaty and didn´t get them undone. "Eager, are we?" he muttered, not even trying to help me.

After a few moments I wiped my hands at my trousers. Afterwards it worked much better. He didn´t do anything but watch me as I revealed more and more of his chest. It was surprisingly muscular for a man of his age, and I felt the overwhelming urge to knead it with my fingers. Hastily I opened the last few buttons and helped him pull the shirt over his shoulders. Now nothing could keep me from running my hands over his skin in big and small circles. With a certain satisfaction I noticed the tiny nipples harden under my loving touch.

It seemed that I was proceeding too slowly for his taste. He pushed my hands aside and, probably recalling my problems, simply seized the two sides of my shirt and ripped it open, sending buttons flying everywhere. I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me by placing a finger over my lips. "Don´t tell me that was the only one you had!" he whispered, with that sarcastic smile I had once hated. Now it increased the tingling sensation that had started in my belly and was quickly spreading into lower regions. I could feel myself grow hard again, yet I wasn´t embarrassed. I just wanted to know whether it was the same for him.

Pulling the rest of my shirt over my arms and throwing it to the floor I inched closer to him. I embraced him, pressing my chest against his. This time he also wrapped his arms around me and let his hands wander over my back. Yet the most important action took place in other regions of our bodies. Hesitantly I moved my hips… and gasped as my manhood came into contact with his, only separated by a few layers of clothing. It was just as erect as mine.

Up to now I hadn´t been certain about Erik´s intentions. It had always been at the back of my mind that maybe he was only playing an insidious game, ready to laugh at me when it would hurt me most. But grinding my hips against his I realised that he needed me just as much as I needed him. "Eager, are we?" I asked in a low voice. His reply consisted of a growl that seemed to come from deep inside his body. Then he captured my lips in a hungry kiss. I returned it with equal passion, not caring that his protruding hipbones were boring through the fabric of my trousers and would probably leave marks in my soft flesh. All that mattered was getting as closely as possible to him.

I tugged at his belt impatiently, only to discover that I´d have to stand up anyway to take off the rest of clothes. Reluctantly I disentangled myself from him and came to my feet, groaning about the interruption. Suddenly my motions slowed down as I opened my trousers and pulled them down with my underwear, staring to the ground. Since my early childhood no one had seen me naked, and I was afraid he could make snide remarks about my appearance. Yet when I looked up again, his eyes had become dark with lust and he was rubbing his crotch. "Beautiful… so beautiful…" he breathed.

"Thank you," I gave back shyly. To my own surprise I seized his hand and pulled him to his feet, too. "Come on!" I muttered, opening his belt. Despite his compliment I was rather self-conscious about not wearing anything, and removing his clothes as well seemed the best method to get rid of that feeling. A few moments later he had kicked off his shoes, and his pieces of clothing had joined mine. I took a step back to enjoy him in his full glory. It was an impressive sight. In my opinion my own body was nothing special, and I had hardly ever thought about other men. Yet now I found myself looking in awe at this body, which was… simply handsome. True, there were signs of his age every here and there, small imperfections, but they only added to his appeal.

Of course I couldn´t say any of this to him. He wouldn´t have believed it anyway. So I only showed my approval by smiling brightly. Yet after a moment I was distracted by my manhood, that was throbbing with its need to be touched. Involuntarily my gaze was drawn to his member. It seemed to be demanding just as much attention as my own, and I was overcome by the wish to explore it.

Yet as I stretched out my hand he grabbed it. "Let´s lie down here, shall we?" he asked, pointing at a spot on the carpet that wasn´t littered with our clothes. "The divan is too small for the both of us. And surely you wouldn´t prefer my coffin or my mother´s bed, would you?" I shook my head. The carpet seemed soft enough. Besides, in my current state I´d have also been content with the bare stone floor if he had told me it was the only possibility. I lay down quickly and gestured at him to do the same.

As soon as we lay on our sides, facing each other, my fingers darted out and wrapped themselves around his manhood. He let out a low moan and crushed my lips against his. My response was rather distracted. It was strange to touch another man´s member, but at the same time it made my whole body tingle with excitement. I wasn´t sure what to do, so I decided to try what I liked myself, hoping we had a similar taste. Slowly I started moving my hand up and down his shaft, paying a lot of attention to the head. Apparently I was doing it correctly, for it began to grow wet with arousal.

I was so absorbed in my activity that I didn´t notice his hand wasn´t at my back anymore. It had sneaked to the front, and before I knew what was happening he mirrored my motions at my manhood. I jumped slightly at the unexpected contact with his calloused palm, then moaned into his mouth. For a few moments it was hard to balance giving and receiving pleasure at the same time, but afterwards it worked surprisingly well.

Time ceased to exist as we lay on the carpet, bringing each other closer and closer to our release. The air was filled with soft moans and gasps. Our kisses had grown absent as we both concentrated on our hands. I had found out that he enjoyed a little more pressure than I usually applied, and when I had left his manhood for a moment and shyly cupped his testicles instead, I had been rewarded with the sweetest cry of my name I had ever heard.

But all good things had to end sooner or later. The pounding of my heart, the gasps for breath, the familiar tightness - I had pleasured myself often enough to know what it meant. Frantically I thrust into his hand more and more quickly… and then I came. Every release I had caused myself paled compared to what I felt now. "Erik!" I cried out as my seed poured over his hand, on his body and the carpet. The world started spinning before my eyes, so I closed them. Though I was utterly exhausted after it was over, I continued moving my hand till he came as well, moments after me. I heard my own name and felt something hot and sticky on my fingers and stomach. The proud smile about having achieved something that extraordinary was still on my lips as I fell asleep.

When I woke up I felt pleasantly warm. Opening my eyes I saw that someone had wrapped a woollen blanket around my body. I was lying on the divan again, and my head was resting on something rather… bony. It took my sleepy mind a few moments to realise it were Erik´s thighs. Looking up I saw him glance down at me. The light in the room had grown dim, making the mask glow even more than usual. Once I had dreaded this sight, but on this day when nothing was normal it made me smile.

"How long did I sleep?", I wanted to know in a whisper. He shrugged. "About half an hour, I´d say," he replied "Just enough time for me to tidy up and make it a little more comfortable…" I noticed the stickiness had vanished from my body. So he had washed me as well. "Thank you…" I muttered. "Well, I had just been cleaning the carpet, so I could as well go on with you," he explained. "The carpet showed far more gratitude, though…" His lips curled into a tiny smile.

This smile was my undoing. I was overwhelmed by a strange mixture of emotions, some of which I had never had before in my life… and some I´d have thought would be reserved for Christine for all times. Suddenly I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach, and I burst into tears. "What´s wrong?", he asked. The concern in his voice only made me cry harder. "N-nothing…" I murmured. "It´s just… I´ve always dreamed of… doing these things with… Christine…"

"Me too," he said simply. "Sometimes life doesn´t go the way it´s supposed to. No one knows that better than me. Still I´m… glad you´re here with me now." It was as if his words had lit a candle in my belly. And then he said it. Cradling me on his arms he said what he had sworn not to. "It´ll be all right, Raoul… Everything will be all right."

**The End**

**Author´s note III:** I´m thinking about continuing this story, mainly because the whole dynamics between Erik and Raoul are fascinating. I haven´t decided yet, and I´d like to hear a few opinions first. Would anyone be interested in finding out if Raoul finally manages to stand up against his family, how (if) his relationship to Erik continues etc.? Just let me know!


	2. Chapter Two

**Author's note:** As you can see, I've decided to continue this story. Thank you for all the reviews encouraging me to do so! And don't forget to keep me informed about whether you like the turns this is taking!

**Chapter Two**

The funeral took place three days later, on one of those fine days July offers aplenty. All around me nature showed its splendour. Daisies held their white heads out towards the sun, and lilac carnations gave the other graves a slight hint of vivaciousness. The leaves of the tree that stretched its branches over my head rustled in a gentle breeze. I was surrounded by life, but I felt as if a little part of myself was as dead as Christine, who was lying in the wooden bed she'd never stand up from again.

I forced myself not to look into the pit, not to listen to the priest's words. Instead, I turned my head slightly, glancing at the two other persons who had found their way to the small graveyard of Perros. Mme.Giry gave me a little nod. She appeared just as collected as always, but I didn't fail to notice that the lines around her eyes had grown deeper since the last time I had seen her.

The woman held the hand of the girl standing next to her. Meg was clutching it as if her life depended on it, sobbing uncontrollably. Her blond curls were dishevelled, covering parts of her pale face. She didn't seem to listen to the priest either, whereas Mme.Giry watched him attentively. Maybe it was her way of maintaining her composure.

I grew a little angry as I looked at the empty space around us. At least a dozen more people could have stood there, bidding farewell to Christine. Yet neither the managers nor any of her fellow singers at the opera had shown the faintest bit of interest in coming here. The long journey had been the standard excuse, but I knew that they simply hadn't wanted to attend her funeral. It would have reminded them of her tragic fate, having died of a terrible disease after just a few months of being the most wonderful soprano Paris had ever had. No one liked thinking of how quickly one's life could end.

Of course no member of my family was here either. Clarille, my youngest sister, had actually considered accompanying me, yet after a short conversation behind closed doors with my brother she had remembered an urgent appointment she had. It had been just the same with the coachmen: Of course they needed all of them today. It was good that I possessed an own coach and knew how to drive; otherwise they'd have let me walk to Perros. The point Philippe wanted to make was clear: If I was stupid enough to mourn over a girl like Christine, I shouldn't expect any support from my family.

There was someone else whose support I'd have expected, though. But as much as I craned my neck, I couldn't spot Erik anywhere. I had told him the date of the funeral when he had guided me out of his world. We hadn't met since that time, and I had been looking forward to seeing him again. I had often thought about writing him a letter of even visiting him, but in the end my cowardice had won. There were those strange feelings inside me, and although I longed for someone to explain them to me, I was also frightened.

"Aren't you feeling well, Son?" Father Barand's soft voice made me jump slightly. In shock I realised that the ceremony was over. The Girys had left their place and were walking into the direction of the gate, and the priest seemed to be ready to leave as well. "No, no, I'm… fine," I assured him hastily. "It was a very good sermon, Father. Thank you for having come all the way from Paris."

He shook his head gently. "I would have done the same for every other member of my parish," he said. "We'll all miss Christine and her wonderful voice in the service." I glanced to the ground, feeling my cheeks flush. My fiancée had gone to church very often, but I had rarely accompanied her. And now I hadn't even listened to the last minutes of the sermon.

We both remained silent for a few moments, then Father Barand muttered: "All this is very hard to get over for a man as young as yourself. Do you have anyone who's there for you?". Looking up I glanced at the spot around Christine's grave once more. It was completely deserted now. I shook my head wordlessly. He gave a sympathetic little sigh. "If you need to talk, you know where to find me," he reminded me, patting my shoulder lightly. Then he walked away, leaving me behind all alone.

But was I truly alone? Stepping forwards I stared down at the light brown wood of the coffin. A few flowers lay on top of it. Vaguely I recalled that I had seen them in Mme.Giry's hand. I hadn't even noticed she had thrown them into the pit before leaving the graveyard. Maybe I had even missed her talking to me because I had been too busy thinking about who wasn't there.

Suddenly I remembered the bouquet of white lilies I held in my cold hands. I knew I should have thrown them onto the coffin, too, but I couldn't bring myself to doing it. What was the point of this tradition? The flowers would only be covered with earth and die, just like Christine. I leaned forwards a little more. Why hadn't I realised before how deep the pit was? It was so deep… so deep…

"Careful, boy!" A hand seized my shoulder roughly and pulled me away from the grave. "You don't want to fall in there, do you?" I spun around, ready to yell something very unfriendly at whoever dared disturb me and treat me like a child. Yet the moment I set eyes upon the mask shining in the light of this late afternoon, my face split into a smile. It was Erik. "I'm so glad you're here at last." I muttered. For a moment I considered embracing him, but decided against it. I wasn't sure whether he'd like such a display of affection.

He didn't make a move to touch me either, so we stood in front of each other awkwardly for at least a minute before he said: "I've been here all the time. But I preferred being alone. So I hid behind that groups of trees over there.". Gesturing at a few trees at the other side of the graveyard he added: "It's good that I have an excellent hearing. Or maybe not quite as good – that priest held the most boring sermon I've ever had the misfortune of being exposed to. I thought he'd never stop.".

"To your information: Christine liked Father Barand and his sermons," I told him shortly. "If listening bothered you so much, you could have simply left." I didn't understand why I was so unfriendly all of a sudden. But I also didn't understand him. If he was pleased to see me, he had a very weird way of showing it. "I wanted to have a moment alone at her grave," he explained. "Besides… I wanted to see how you were doing." He underlined the last words by placing a hand on my shoulder.

The gesture was almost the same as the priest's, and still it was very different. The few square inches where he touched me grew hot at once, igniting a fire in my belly. I gasped for breath. Images of the time we had spent together were racing through my head, making my whole body tingle. How I had missed him! It felt so good… so deliciously good… but it was all wrong.

With a start I remembered where I was: on a graveyard. I might not have been the most avid church-goer, still I knew it wasn't allowed to get an erection at such a place. Quickly I took a step backwards, breaking the contact. Luckily I had my hat in the hand that wasn't holding the flowers. As discreetly as possible I moved it in front of the region of my body that had shown this unmistakable reaction.

"Is anything wrong?" Erik asked, the smirk on his face a clear sign that he knew what had happened to me. "No, I'm fine," I replied, giving the same answer as to the priest. It had been a lie then and it was a lie now. "Would you like to be alone here? I could go," I then offered half-heartedly. I didn't want to leave already; we had hardly had the chance to exchange two sentences. But then, he deserved the opportunity to talk to Christine in private. Besides, I needed a little time to get my unruly body under control again. He nodded slightly, muttering "Thank you.". Silently I placed the bouquet next to the tombstone. It looked very pretty.

Walking away I was almost as sad as during the funeral. Somehow my feelings about the loss of my fiancée were tangible and easy to understand. She had died, and that was something terrible. But my meeting with Erik, as short as it had been, had filled me with emotions so strange that I couldn't possibly comprehend them. How could I long for this man and be angry at him at the same time? Settling down on a bench next to the gate I decided to wait for him. He'd eventually have to pass this spot.

It took him a while to finish whatever he was doing. I used the time to try and forget I was on a graveyard. I failed miserably. As much as I concentrated on the trees and flowers, crosses and tombstones kept getting in my range of vision, reminding me that this was a place belonging to the dead. In the background, the mausoleums were looming like gigantic beasts. I was glad that Christine hadn't wanted to end up in one of them. It had been her wish that her body would become a part of nature again, while her soul would go to Heaven.

By the time Erik turned around and approached the gate the sun had already started to descend, which made the place even less inviting. Fortunately I'd get away from here soon. I stood up when he was just a few steps away from me, suddenly very keen on pretending I hadn't waited for him. Of course it didn't work. For what other reason should I have stayed?

"You're still here?" he asked, his lips twitching into an amused half-smile. If being at Christine's grave had affected him in any way, he didn't show it. "Yes, well… erm, I thought maybe… I could take you home…" I stammered, silently cursing myself for not making up a better excuse. He raised an eyebrow. "And how do you assume I've come here? On foot?" he wanted to know pleasantly. He seemed to think this conversation highly funny. "No… erm… well…" I muttered. "You should consult a doctor about that stutter," he suggested. "It's not normal, even for a boy of your tender age."

That remark was the final straw. "I don't have to stand here and listen to your insults!" I hissed, walking to the gate and pulling it open with far more energy than necessary. Who did this man think he was? No one would treat me like that! My anger lasted until the moment I reached the coach and went to untie my horse's reins from a tree nearby. By then Erik's comments had been replaced by images of what I'd do if I drove back to Paris now. It was a more than gloomy prospect.

Would it look very stupid if I walked back to him? I'd probably earn yet another snide remark. But then, the last time we had met he had become nicer after a while. Perhaps I could invite him for a drink. I turned around… and jumped as I found myself face to face with him. Apparently he had followed me without making a sound. It had to be one of his talents as Opera Ghost.

My heart skipped a beat. So I wasn't the only one interested in prolonging our meeting. This would have been my chance to make a sarcastic comment, but I didn't seize it. I was far too glad to see that he cared for me after all. "I don't want to go home," I confessed softly. "My brother has invited my sisters and their husbands for dinner. They'll laugh and chat and act as if Christine had never existed. And the worst part is that there'll also be a ´lovely´ girl from our neighbourhood, who'll show up ´by chance´. I overheard Philippe talk to her about his little brother, who needs to be cheered up." I rolled my eyes to indicate what I thought about it.

Having consulted his pocket watch Erik said: "It's half past seven – rather late for dinner, considering how long the journey will take.". I shook my head dismissively. "I tried coming late a few times," I told him. "They'll wait for me, even if I won't arrive until midnight. But thank you anyway…" I appreciated it that he had thought about my problem at all. He could have also called it ridiculous and walked away.

Looking at me seriously he muttered: "You do seem a bit pale, though. Maybe you shouldn't drive all the way back. It could be dangerous… I've seen they're renting rooms at the inn in the village…". At last I understood what he had in mind. Smiling I said: "I'm sure Philippe won't be angry if I return in the morning. After all, he wouldn't want me to risk an accident." A little nervously I added: "You should stay here as well… erm… for… safety reasons…". This time he didn't comment on my stammer, but merely nodded. Without exchanging another word we went to our coaches and prepared them for the short journey through the village. Of course we could have walked, but the horses needed a good place to stay for the night.

Twenty minutes later they were eating hay in the stable belonging to the inn, while we stood in the small entrance hall. I could only hope that the horses weren't the only ones who had found a place to sleep. The man at the desk looked up and greeted us, but I didn't get out a word in return. What if he'd ask unpleasant questions about why we only wanted one room? I was relieved when Erik stepped forwards to talk to him. Surely he'd do it better than me.

"Good evening. My companion and I would like to have two rooms for the night." I couldn't believe my ears. _Two _rooms? The man hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on the mask. Then he pulled himself together. "Of course, Monsieur," he replied. "Rooms 3 and 6 are vacant. You'll find them on the first floor. Would you like to pay right now?" I was still so shocked that I didn't even think of giving Erik the money for my room. I merely looked at the two keys he got, wishing I could turn them into one. "If you need anything else, just ask! Have a nice stay!" the man called after us as we made our way up the stairs. I felt like slapping him.

Arriving on the first floor we walked down the corridor till we reached the door with the number 3. Erik handed me a key, and for a moment our eyes met. I wanted to say something, _anything_, but I didn't dare do it. "Are you hungry? We should have asked whether we can get some food here…" he said. I shook my head, feeling as if I'd never eat again. "Well… goodnight then," he muttered and made his way to his room.

Sighing I unlocked the door and went inside. It was a small room with rather tasteless furniture. There was a bed, a table, a chair and a wardrobe, all looking as if they had once belonged to different households. Yet at the moment I couldn't have cared less. Automatically I undressed; instead of my usual nightshirt I simply kept on my shirt. Although it was much too early, I then went to bed. There was nothing else for me to do.

It was warm in the room, and still I shivered as I lay under the thick blanket, closing my eyes firmly. Finally the day's events started taking their toll. I imagined what lying in a coffin had to feel like. One couldn't turn around. One couldn't get up. One couldn't see. And the only prospect one had was to be eaten by worms. I could almost feel them crawl over my skin, searching for the most tender piece of flesh to bite into, the most inviting orifice to invade my body… My eyes snapped open, and for a moment I did nothing but try to regain control over my racing heart. No, I couldn't fall asleep with such pictures in my head.

With all my might I focused on happier thoughts. The things that happened inside the coffin had nothing to do with Christine. It was just her body. Her soul had left it long ago. Except for the sad fate of people buried alive, no one would ever experience the things I had imagined. After all, who would want to lie in a coffin? _And surely you wouldn't prefer my coffin, would_ _you?_ Where did that sentence come from all of a sudden? It took me a few moments to recognise it as something Erik had said… shortly before he had begun to touch my manhood. Oh, that was an extremely pleasant thought! At once my member stirred; it seemed to like the memory as well.

My hand had already started its journey downwards when I stopped myself. I didn't want to do this now, not after Erik had been so indifferent. He might have been loving and friendly then, but today all he had done was mock me. He hadn't even wanted to sleep in the same room as me. I gave another deep sigh. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't understand him. Longingly I recalled the way he had bid me farewell three days ago. The spot on my cheek that he had kissed so gently tingled, and my manhood twitched in approval.

By now I had to hold onto my hand to keep it from touching me. If I started pleasuring myself, I'd maybe sleep better afterwards, but I'd never find out what Erik felt for me… or what I felt for him. The chance to ask him would be gone in the morning. Quickly, before I could change my mind again, I got up and left the room. I didn't even take the time to put on my trousers. It was barely nine o'clock; no one would be on the way to a room yet.

I was lucky; the corridor was indeed deserted. Still I hastened to room 6. Taking a deep breath I knocked at the door. "Who's there?" a voice called briskly. It didn't sound sleepy at all, and I dared get my hopes up a little. "It's me, Raoul," I replied softly. "There's something we have to talk about. Can I… come in?" A few moments passed in silence before he said: "All right. But I do hope it's important.". Although he couldn't see it, I nodded eagerly and opened the door.

As far as I could tell in the semi-darkness, the room was almost the same as mine. The bed stood in the corner, and Erik lay in it on his side, his back facing me. "What do you want?" he asked, not even turning around. "Well, it's… erm…" I tried to pull myself together. If I went on like that, he'd be asleep within a minute. "I just want to know… what it is you feel for me," I eventually managed to get out. He gave a groan. "Do we have to have this conversation now?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, the bored sound of his voice making me angry. "I can't understand you! One moment you say you care for me, and the next you mock me. One day you kiss me, and the other you don't even touch me properly. But I won't have you treat me like this anymore. Maybe you don't want to remember what happened between us. Then I'll make you remember it!"

With these bold words I walked over to the bed and crawled under the blanket, only to discover that it was impossible to remain furious while being this close to him. He wasn't even wearing a shirt, just his underwear. I fought against my body's reaction. "Turn around, Erik… please!" I whispered, touching his upper arm softly. "I can't," he mumbled, shrugging off my hand. "But why not?" I wanted to know shyly. "I just want to kiss you and… things like that… Wouldn't you like it?" His reply consisted of a single sentence. "Look at the table!" I did what he told me, and suddenly comprehension dawned on me. On the table, shining in the moonlight coming through the window, lay his mask.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"You thought I was wearing the mask day and night, didn't you?" Erik asked. He didn't seem to expect an answer, for he continued talking right away. "That's only possible with the wig. But sometimes I have to take off the mask, especially on warm days. You wouldn't believe how hot it became on the graveyard after a while. And then the edges started cutting into my skin… I had to apply a salve when I came here."

I lay on my side, staring at the back of his head while he was speaking. Our bodies didn't touch, for I was afraid he might send me away if I approached him. After all, he had pushed away my hand barely a minute ago. And after I had taken in his words and their meaning for me, I didn't feel like trying it again anyway. "So you only agreed to stay here for the night because you had to take off the mask for a while and didn't want to risk being seen without it on the way to Paris?" I whispered, not even making an attempt to hide my disappointment.

"I didn't say that," he corrected me. He reached behind himself and seized my hand, pulling my arm over his back and to his chest. Slowly I began to stroke his skin, hardly daring believe my luck. "I stayed here because I thought that you and I… that we…" he muttered. I didn't let him finish his sentence, but interjected: "Why did you want two rooms then?". "I wasn't sure whether you wanted the same," he admitted. "You walked away on the graveyard, so I assumed you didn't like me touching you. And when it came to renting the rooms, you didn't say anything…" "Because I was afraid the innkeeper could make a stupid comment about two men sleeping in the same room," I interrupted him yet again. "But I'm here now."

My hand grew bolder with every moment. It wandered up and down his chest, caressing the surprisingly soft skin. He inhaled sharply as I found one of his nipples and pinched it lightly. "Go and fetch my mask!" he whispered urgently. "I have to turn around… I simply have to…" "No," I replied firmly. "Why not?" he asked, sounding puzzled. "You said yourself that you wanted to kiss me…" "That's true," I admitted. "But I won't fetch your mask. You told me it hurt you. So you shouldn't wear it."

I had no idea where the courage to stand to my opinion came from. There was just this little voice in my head telling me that I was right and he was wrong. "Foolish boy," he muttered. "Don't you remember what I look like without the mask? Do you really want to see that a second time? For what reason? Do you wish to experience the thrill of the forbidden by doing all these things with a monster, which belongs into a cage rather than a bed?"

"Shh!" I made. "Stop talking about yourself like that! You know very well that none of it is true. But if this is what you think about you and me, I can as well leave." Of course I didn't put my words into action. In fact, I did quite the opposite. I moved my hand down his belly till it met his underwear. Feeling his muscles quiver with excitement I leaned forwards to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. "I'll close the curtains," I offered. "And I won't touch your face. Please… I just want you to be comfortable…" Finally he nodded. "But hurry…" he breathed.

And hurry I did. I left the bed quickly and went to the window, drawing the curtains with one determined motion. It had been rather dark in the room before, and now it was even darker. I smiled, pleased with my idea. Hearing the bed make a slight sound I returned there at once, expecting to find Erik facing me. Yet he still lay in the same position as before.

Slipping under the blanket again I whispered soothingly: "I can hardly see my hand before my eyes. You don't have to wo-". I never finished the sentence, for in this moment he turned around with truly amazing speed and attacked my lips, taking my breath away. Involuntarily I closed my eyes. "Do you know… how appealing you looked… standing at the window?" he asked between kisses. "In that white shirt… like a little ghost…" So I had been right in my assumption that he had turned around before. "And I thought you were the only ghost here," I said, suppressing a chuckle. "I can assure you I'm not a ghost," he gave back. "I'm made of flesh and bones… especially the former part you should know by now."

Encouraged by his words I brought my lips to his again and put one of my legs over his, thus pushing our hips against each other. As soon as they touched, my manhood began to grow, and I noticed that his did the same. Flesh indeed…´ I thought. Slowly I started moving backwards and forwards, a hand hastily placed on his backside making sure he moved with me. Just a moment later his hand landed on my bottom, and he pushed me against himself even more firmly.

We rocked back and forth with increasing speed. It was wonderful, yet the longer we did it, the more I realised something I had tried to ignore before: We were still wearing our underwear. I really didn't want to come in them; I didn't even have another pair with me. "We have to stop," I muttered, panting slightly. "We have to get rid of those…" I tugged at his underwear. "And of my shirt, of course," I added. "It's becoming a little too warm."

"But don't open your eyes," he whispered. "It's so very dark," I said reassuringly. "I won't see a thing." "Don't…" he repeated. Was there a note of panic in his voice? I wanted to take away that negative feeling. It had been a coincidence that I had closed my eyes at first, and it was stupid of him to cling to it. Quickly I opened them… and froze. I had been wrong. It wasn't dark enough.

I didn't know what to do or say. I could only stare at the twisted mass of flesh that was the right side of Erik's face. True, I had seen it once before, yet that belonged to the kind of memory stored at the back of my mind. I simply didn't comprehend how a human being could look like that. Involuntarily my gaze wandered to the other part of his face, which was rather handsome with its strong jaw, full lips, elegant nose and those startling golden eyes. The contrast between the two sides had a certain cruel irony that made me shudder.

"Take a deep breath! It helps… or so I've heard," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I felt a motion and realised he had taken his hand from me. Quickly I did the same. None of us had pushed the other away, but we weren't touching anymore either. It was as if someone had emptied a bucket of icy-cold water over us. My manhood was shrinking to its normal size rapidly. Moreover, I still had no idea what to tell him.

After a few moments I at least managed to look down, so that I wasn't staring at his face anymore. Yet apparently that wasn't right either, for he hissed: "Have you satisfied your curiosity now? Would you leave my bed then? Be a good boy! You need your sleep. You can tell all your little friends about how disgusting I am tomorrow.". He wanted to turn around, but my hand darted out and gripped his upper arm. "I don't have any friends," I said simply. "Nor do I intend to tell anyone about you."

I forced myself to look into his eyes as I continued: "I'm sorry, Erik, I truly am. I should have listened to you. If I had known it wasn't dark enough, I'd have never suggested only drawing the curtains. But I don't want to go. I want to stay here, with you. I'll keep my eyes closed if you want me to, I promise…" He shook his head. "That's not what I want," he whispered, his voice strangely hesitant. "But could you… No, I can't ask you to do that." "Yes, you can," I assured him, my hand wandering up and down his arm. He leaned even closer, murmuring: "I've always dreamed of somebody touching my face.".

I swallowed hard, trying to hide my nervousness. That request was completely unexpected. Touching his face… What would it feel like? I thought back to the day when I had sneaked into the kitchen as a child to have a look at all the different kinds of food before they landed on my plate. I had even touched a few, but then the cook had caught me and sent me away. With a shudder I recalled the feeling of raw meat under my fingertips. Would it be like that?

Christine would do it. I didn't know where the thought came from. It was simply there, causing one of the internal battles I was so familiar with. ´I'm not Christine,´ I argued. ´Christine would have only done it because she liked him.´ _Oh, and you're lying here in bed with him because you hate him so much?_ a little voice in my head asked. _Isn't it strange that you don't have that many problems with touching certain other areas of his body? So why not his face? He wants it to happen so badly…_

Naturally Erik was oblivious to my struggle. "It's all right," he muttered. "You don't have to do it." I could almost feel him withdraw from me, so shortly after we had been so very close. It was in this moment that I understood what his wish meant: He trusted me enough to believe I'd at least consider it. I couldn't let him down. "I will do it," I said, half to myself.

My heart was pounding in my chest as my hand made its way up his arm. Every time I wanted to slow down I forced myself to continue. Finally it reached his chin and moved further upwards. At the first contact of his cheek and my fingers a trembling went through his body. Or did it come from me? Given my nervousness both options were possible. Yet to my relief I soon noticed it didn't feel too bad. Of course the flesh wasn't as smooth as my own skin. It was much rougher, but not as terrible as I had expected. I'd surely get used to it.

After that realisation had sunken in, I grew bolder, moving my hand in tiny circles all over the deformed side of his face. By now it was clearly he who was trembling. His eyes were closed, and his lips slightly parted. Every now and then he drew a shuddering breath. He looked more vulnerable than any person I had ever seen. The times in which I had been afraid of him seemed to be wiped away, at least in these moments. And that was why I wanted them to last as long as possible.

Driven by a sudden impulse I brought my face even closer to his and kissed his right cheek softly. The twisted flesh felt strange, yet not at all unpleasant. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at me, the expression on his face one of utmost astonishment. The next moment our lips met in the sweetest kiss I had ever experienced. Our hands tangled in each other's hair, but I had to be careful not to pull off his wig. So I chose to let my fingers trail down his throat, caressing the skin there.

When the kiss ended we looked at each other for a long moment. Erik's eyes were shining with tears and affection. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse. "Thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me. I'll always remember it…" He gave me a lopsided smile, yet I couldn't help thinking that he wasn't as happy as his words should have made me believe.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. "Didn't it feel as good as you thought it would?" He heaved a deep sigh. "It felt wonderful," he assured me. "That's just the problem. It felt wonderful, and now it's over and won't ever happen again. I'm very grateful that you've overcome your revulsion for a few moments, but I'd never dare ask you for such a favour a second time."

At once my hand was on his cheek again. "Touching you is not a favour you have to beg me for," I said, stressing every single word. Meanwhile my finger traced the line the edges of his mask had left in his skin. He winced slightly, and I gave him a brief kiss on the tip of his nose to comfort him. "I like making you feel good, Erik," I went on. "And if touching your face is the right way of achieving my goal, I'll do it… again and again, till it'll be completely normal for you."

Slowly his face spilt into a smile. "And I like making you feel good," he told me. "Is there anything special I could do for you? A spot you'd like me to touch? Or maybe a certain way of kissing you?" I shook my head, feeling rather stupid. I knew so little about what two men could do together. As a matter of fact, I hardly knew anything about what a man and a woman could to together. For once I wished I'd have listened to my brother more carefully.

"There is something I've heard of," he started as he realised I wasn't about to make a suggestion myself. "Maybe you'll like it. I'm not sure, though… Would you let me try?" "Well, yes…" I replied hesitantly. He had trusted me, so I had to trust him now… no matter how weird that concept still felt.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

It started rather harmlessly, with a kiss. Yet the moment his lips landed on mine I noticed it was more urgent than before. His tongue entered my mouth almost instantly, caressing my own lovingly. Amazed by the speed in which he proceeded all of a sudden I pressed my body against his. I wanted to feel more of him, all of him. But those annoying clothes were still in the way. Reluctantly I removed my hand from his cheek.

Erik threw me a questioning glance, and I pointed at my shirt wordlessly. After this brief reassurance the kiss went on just as wonderfully as before. I hastened to open the buttons, a task that was more successful than last time because they were bigger than those on the shirt I had worn three days ago. Then I took off the superfluous piece of clothing, pushing it to the edge of the bed. Maybe I'd have to lie on it later, but at the moment all that counted was that it didn't keep me from being as close to him as I could.

We had to break the kiss for a few seconds as we both slipped out of our underwear. And then we could finally feel each other's body without clothes. Hastily we wrapped our arms and legs around each other in any way we could think of. All that mattered was making as much physical contact as possible. We lay quite still. I hardly dared breathe, afraid of breaking the moment. It was like… remembering. Could I have really missed something I had only had once before? But then, his body already felt so familiar: the muscular legs and the strong chest… not to mention the part on between.

Yet it was exactly that part which attracted my attention. With a quick motion Erik brought his manhood together with mine, so that they were rubbing against each other. Oh, what a lovely friction it caused! I couldn't keep myself from moaning loudly. Anxiously I glanced at him to see what he thought about the open display of my feelings. "Yes," he whispered. "Let me hear how much you enjoy it…" His words sounded so sensual that I almost came right there and then. Pulling myself together I moved my hips more and more quickly…

But suddenly the friction was gone. It took my mind a moment to realise Erik was no longer in the same position as before. He had slid down my body a little, so that his face was on the same level as my throat. "What…?" I muttered, too puzzled to decide whether to be curious or disappointed. "I told you I want to try something new," he replied in a hot whisper against my skin, motioning me to lie on my back. The events of the last minutes had kept me so distracted that I had nearly forgotten all about it. Yet as I looked down at him the excitement clearly gained the upper hand. If the thing he planned was half as good as what we had just been doing, it was worth the attempt. And if it wasn't, we could always do something else, couldn't we? So I nodded encouragingly.

He pressed a kiss to my throat. I liked it, but wasn't sure what to think as he reached out and pulled away the blanket, throwing it to the ground. I glanced at him nervously, seized by a wave of bashfulness. True, it was rather dark. But then, it had been enough to see Erik's face. So he'd also be able to see whatever physical flaws I had. "What are you doing?" I asked. "It is too hot under the blanket. I don't want to suffocate down here," he explained. Again I nodded, even though I was not much wiser than before. If only I had had an idea of what he was about to do!

His mouth left a wet trail on my skin as he moved further downwards, over my clean-shaven throat and along my collarbone till it came to one of my nipples. I inhaled sharply as he licked over the tiny bud, making it grow erect as once, just like the other one, which was currently unattended. He seemed to notice that fact as well, for in the next moment his fingers were caressing the nipple tenderly. I couldn't decide whether I liked his hand or his mouth better. Both sensations were wonderful, especially when he changed the positions and I suddenly felt his tongue on my other nipple. "Oh Erik," I breathed. I hadn't even known this part of my body was that sensitive.

By the time his mouth wandered down my chest I was already panting slightly, wondering how much better it could get. He circled my navel briefly, but his ultimate goal seemed to be a different spot. My member twitched. Did it know something I didn't? Then everything fell into place. "Erik, are you going to… to put your lips on my… my thing?" I blurted out.

Up to now I had only been able to see the top of his head, but hearing my question he looked up. "Your _thing_? What a precise description," he remarked with a smirk. "If you're referring to your penis, that's what I'm going to do… unless you don't want me to, that is…" During his last words the expression on his face had lost some of its self-confidence. It was almost as if he was worried I might reject him.

Of course I had no intention to do that. My body was tingling with the sensations he had already caused, and the prospect that things would get better even increased these feelings. "Just do it then," I whispered. He smiled at me briefly and moved further down. Now that I knew what he'd do, I waited with baited breath for his mouth to make contact with my manhood.

But it didn't happen. Even when his head was in just the right position, he didn't do anything… but looking at my member. I had been a little embarrassed when he had pulled away the blanket, yet it was nothing compared to how I felt now. My cheeks flushed scarlet, and my erection decreased considerably. "I like to see what I'm doing," Erik told me before I could ask. He eyed my manhood with something that could only be called ´scientific interest´. "No reason for being shy," he muttered. "It looks better than those I've seen during my dissections."

"What a lovely compliment," I murmured, uncertain whether to laugh or shout at him. So my manhood looked better than that of a corpse. If that wouldn't make me die a happy man, what would? "I didn't mean it in an offensive way," he hastened to assure me. "On the contrary. It's a pleasure to look at you, Raoul. You're a very handsome man." If it had been possible, I'd have blushed even more. Admittedly I had heard that quite a few times. But hearing it from a sister or an elderly aunt was not the same as hearing it from Erik, who wasn't exactly well-known for his charm. Compared to his first attempt, he had improved very much, though.

Smiling I opened my mouth to say ´Thank you.´. Yet what actually came over my lips sounded more like "Thank y-oooh!", for in this moment he seemed to have decided to stop looking and start acting. A first lick along my whole length made my hips jerk forwards. "Steady, boy," he muttered, wrapping his fingers around the base of my manhood to hold it in place. Then he continued moving his tongue up and down my shaft.

I tried my best to hold still, but it became increasingly difficult. The most wonderful sensations were twirling inside me. Suddenly the decision between hand and tongue was easy: Nothing could feel better than this mouth. My whole body seemed to be more alive than before, more aware of every tiny movement. I noticed his fingertips squeezing my member every so softly and his breath on my skin. Yet the most important feeling was that of his lips closing around the tip of my manhood and gliding further upwards. I moaned deeply.

It was good… deliciously good… too good. I wished it could have gone on like this forever, yet even with my mind practically bloodless I knew that was impossible. Despite the fact that he had only started such a short while before, I couldn't prolong my climax. "Erik!" I cried, almost desperately. His reaction was unexpected, yet instant: He removed his lips from my member moments before I came. For a split-second I wondered why he had done that, but when my release took charge, there was no time for thinking. It was so powerful that my body shook like a dry leaf in the autumn wind. My fingers dug deep into the soft mattress as the seed shot out of my manhood.

Erik didn't let go of me until it was over. When I was only twitching slightly, he got up and walked to a door behind which probably was the bathroom. "What are you doing?" I called, angry at myself because I sounded like a little child. But I still felt very weak and vulnerable from my climax and didn't want to be alone now. "Just cleaning myself," he replied. Letting my hand wander over the dry sheet I realised I had come all over him. Finally I also understood why he had not kept his mouth on me till the end. I felt a bit embarrassed. But then, where else should I have come?

I listened into the darkness, but heard nothing but strange sounds muffled by the wall between the bathroom and this room. A few minutes later he returned to the bed. I had used the time to regain control over my rapid breathing and the racing heartbeat. Besides, I had thrown our underwear and my shirt to the floor. Now he covered us with the blanket and settled down in my readily outstretched arms. We both had to lie on our sides, for there wasn't enough space to lie on our backs, yet I appreciated it, and Erik didn't seem to mind either. I hadn't even asked whether I could stay for the night. Certain things went without saying.

Brushing my lips over his temple I whispered: "Thank you for doing that for me.". "You're welcome," he gave back. "What you've done for me was so much more…" Understanding the subtle hint I brought my hand to his cheek again. He gave a content little sigh. As I didn't want him so start thanking me again, I quickly changed the topic. "Would you like me to… you know, return the favour?" I asked shyly, almost hoping he'd decline my offer. As much as I wanted to make him feel good, I was afraid of hurting him.

To my relief he shook his head. "Certainly… but not at the moment," he answered. "I knew you'd be too tired afterwards. So I've already… taken care of myself…" "Oh," I made. Now I knew what else he had done in the bathroom. I had to admit that I was positively surprised. Who'd have thought that this man could be selfless? Involuntarily the touch of my hand grew even more tender as I caressed his cheek.

He had been right: I was exhausted. Still there was something else I wanted to ask him before I could even think of falling asleep. "Erik, how did you know how this kind of thing was done?" I mean… I wouldn't have known it…" I bit my lip, not daring to look into his eyes. What if he'd tell me that ´everyone´ knew such things? I was reminded of a similar conversation with my brother, in which I had asked him how to kiss a girl. ´It's pure instinct. No thinking involved. If you can't do it properly the first time, you won't ever do it properly.´ Philippe's words were still vivid in my mind.

Yet Erik seemed to regard my questions as completely normal. "Well, I read a lot," he replied. "Of course I'd have never thought I'd actually need those things one day, but I read about them anyway. I have books about everything, so it would have been wrong to leave out one topic, wouldn't it?" It almost sounded like a justification. "Yes," I agreed. "But can you really learn such things from books only?" "One can learn many things," he said. "Yet from a certain point on I simply had to think about what I'd like myself. Fortunately I have a vivid imagination."

His explanation made me feel relieved. So there weren't only people who knew how to do these things from the beginning and those who'd never learn it. Still I was a little anxious. "What if I won't be able to do it as well as you when it'll be my turn?" I asked in a small voice. "Then we'll try it again," he answered matter-of-factly, as if that was the most logical response in the world. "You shouldn't worry about that now anyway, but fall asleep immediately. Boys of your age need to be well-rested in the morning." For a moment I considered commenting on his remark, but then I preferred kissing him. It was less exhausting.

Carefully removing my hand I pressed my lips to both of his cheeks, letting them linger a little longer on the right one. Then I rested my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. "Goodnight Erik," I muttered, letting my hand wander over his back slowly. "Goodnight Raoul," he gave back, kissing my forehead softly. I was almost asleep when a thought pushed itself to the front of my mind: When Erik had gone to the bathroom he had walked past the table. It would have been easy for him to fetch his mask, but he hadn't done so. And I was glad about it. A content smile was on my lips as I drifted off to sleep, barely aware of his arms around me.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Even still partly asleep I noticed something was wrong: Erik's arms were no longer wrapped around my body. He had probably turned around sometime at night. Well, given the fact that it was quite warm such a behaviour was perfectly understandable. Yet as I groped around blindly, my hand encountered nothing but emptiness. At once my eyes snapped open. They confirmed what I had suspected: Erik was gone.

Sitting up I looked around in the room, hoping against hope that he had just gone to the bathroom. A neat little pile of clothes on the chair made my heartbeat speed up. He couldn't have left without them, could he? Yet as I threw them a second glance I realised that neither his cloak nor his fedora were there. Quickly I turned my head, only to find out that his mask was missing as well.

Something was strangely familiar about those clothes. All tiredness vanished from my body as I jumped out of the bed and walked over to the chair. Picking up the shirt I realised that it wasn't his clothing, but my own. To my surprise it was not only the part I had taken off in this room, but all of it. He must have fetched it for me while I had still been sleeping. Since I hadn't even thought about locking my room before visiting him the previous night, that hadn't been a difficult task.

But then, he'd have doubtlessly also been able to do it if the door had been locked. He was a man with many talents. Yet for some reason the only other one I could remember at the moment was how immensely talented his tongue and lips had been when he had… A stirring in my loins drew my attention to the fact that I wasn't wearing anything. Hastily I grabbed my underwear and put it on. I felt better afterwards, even though no one was there to see me, naked or not.

That was just the point. The realisation sank in slowly, but steadily. Erik had left without as much as saying goodbye. It was as if a leaden weight had dropped into my stomach. Would it have been asked too much to wake me up? I knew we couldn't have returned to Paris together because we had two coaches, but we could at least have got up together… eaten breakfast… kissed…

Frustration made me give the chair a powerful kick, which I instantly regretted as a searing pain shot through my bare foot. The next time I'd do something like that I should better wear shoes. Yet when I was about to turn around I spotted the corner of a piece of paper hanging out between my shirt and my trousers. Snatching it out I hopped to the bed, where I could both read the message and massage my aching toes.

_Dear Raoul,_

_I had to leave early. It is safer for me to travel when there aren't many people on the roads yet. Since I don't think you want to expose your enthralling body to everyone, I've already fetched your clothes. Both rooms are paid. Have a pleasant journey home._

_Erik_

_P.S.: If you want to see me, you know where to find me._

What a message! Even after the initial relief that he had not left without a single word – at least not in writing – had worn off, it took me a while to interpret everything. Still a few aspects remained unclear. What did he want to say with the sentence about my body, for example? He had called me beautiful before, but enthralling was not the same. Wasn't it more ironic than serious?

And what about the part about the paid rooms? On the first sight I had thought it a nice gesture, just like the delivery of my clothes. Yet the longer I sat there, staring at the sheet of paper in my hand, the more offensive it became. Maybe Erik had recalled the small obituary and assumed I couldn't pay for the room myself. I didn't like that kind of mothering at all.

Naturally it was the postscript I thought about longest. ´If you want to see me´- of course I wanted to see him. Why had he put it like that instead of telling me a date when we could meet? Perhaps he wasn't sure whether he'd like to meet me at all and hoped I wouldn't dare contact him. Considering the fact that I hadn't done it before the funeral either that wasn't too far-fetched.

"Idiot!" I scolded myself. Hadn't the events of yesterday taught me anything? I had interpreted each of Erik's actions negatively, and each of them had truly had a positive reason. Now I had done just the same. I had to stop thinking of him in the worst way possible, or I'd only end up hurting both of us. I was aware that it wouldn't be easy. After all, I had thought about him like that for a long time.

Leaning my back against the pillow I read the message another time, determined to see it in a good way. And it worked. Of course he hadn't meant to offend me by paying for the rooms. It had probably just been the most sensible thing to do. The term ´enthralling´ was a compliment and nothing else. And of course he wanted to see me again. He had just not been sure which date to suggest because he didn't know which appointments I had.

Suddenly I was perfectly cheerful again. I whistled as I placed the letter on the table and went to the bathroom to wash myself. Not even the cold water could put a damper on my excellent mood. Returning to the room I put on my clothes and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains. It was a wonderful day, sunny and warm. Why hadn't I noticed before how nicely the birds were singing?

I pocketed the note carefully and left the room. With a spring in my step I walked down the stairs.

"Good morning, Monsieur!" the man at the desk called. "Would you care to have some breakfast?"

"No," I replied. There was no place in my head for things as trivial as food now. "But thank you for the offer. My stay here was very pleasant. Goodbye!" With these words I opened the door and walked out into the sunshine.

A quarter of an hour later I was sitting in my coach, leaving Perros behind quickly. I had briefly considered visiting Christine's grave a second time, but decided against it. I had always had a strong dislike towards graveyards. Besides, her soul was no longer there anyway. I could as well think about her at home… or with Erik. I particularly liked the latter idea. Maybe we could sit together and talk about her soon. That would be very nice for both of us.

Unfortunately my positive feelings didn't last the entire journey. The closer I came to Paris, the more I dreaded arriving there and facing my brother. I had the vague hope that he could have gone out, but I knew it was not very likely. Philippe wasn't exactly a morning person, and he rarely left the house before noon. Moreover, I'd have to meet him sooner or later anyway. So I could as well get over with it quickly.

By the time I came to Paris, the morning was almost over. The streets were full of people shouting, laughing or crying. It wasn't easy to find my way through the crowd, and I was glad when I arrived at the large estate of the de Chagny family. A stable boy was already waiting at the gate; he seemed to have seen me coming and decided to help me at once. Either that, or my brother had sent him. I strongly suspected the latter.

I handed him the reins of my horse with a few friendly words and walked to the house, feeling my heart pound in my chest anxiously. I was angry at myself for being such a coward. After all, I wasn't a little boy about to be scolded for having done something wrong. I was a grown-up man who had stayed away from home longer than expected. It was hardly a crime that justified punishment.

Yet apparently my brother didn't share my opinion. The moment I reached for the door handle it was pulled out of my hand as the door opened, revealing Philippe standing behind it.

"Raoul!" he exclaimed. "Where have you been all night? I was so worried about you that I could hardly sleep!" Before I could utter a word of surprise, he pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace.

Letting go of me he gently ushered me into the sitting room. While my feet carried me there automatically, my mind was busy wondering what on earth was wrong with Philippe. He was never worried about me. He hadn't even been truly worried about me on the day he had followed me down to Erik's lair as I had tried to rescue Christine. Personally, I thought it very likely that he had only done so because people had expected him to. Moreover, he never embraced me. I could even remember him giving me a telling-off for embracing my sisters. To him embraces, just like kisses, were a waste of time and energy, unless they helped him getting a girl down onto her knees more quickly.

It was not until we entered the sitting room and I turned around that I found the explanation for his uncharacteristically affectionate behaviour. I spotted the petite girl walking behind Philippe, and everything fell into place. The girl's name was Viviana, and she was our youngest kitchen help. My brother was obsessed with her beauty and innocence and didn't miss a chance to demonstrate what a fantastic man he was. It irritated him to no end that she hadn't given in to his courting yet, but it also made him try harder and harder to impress her. Playing the loving brother had been just the right method for that purpose.

I sat down in the armchair closest to the door, and Philippe took the one next to it.

"Would you like to have cup of tea now, Messieurs?" Viviana wanted to know.

"No, thank you," he declined the offer without even asking me. It seemed that he couldn't maintain the façade of friendliness too long. "You may return to the kitchen and help prepare lunch." The girl curtseyed and left the room.

"Is she still locking her door at night?" I asked conversationally. "A clever young woman. She won't fall for you."

He made a dismissive gesture.

"They all do sooner or later," he replied. "And that one is rather close to giving in. You should have seen her last night when poor lonely Philippe was crying his eyes out about his brother's absence. I almost had her convinced to stay and comfort me when her mother called and she had to leave." He shrugged, indicating how little he cared, whereas I inwardly congratulated the girl's mother, who was working as our cook, for her good timing.

Philippe seemed to have guessed my opinion on the subject, for he said:

"I always get what I want. And I want Viviana. She's such a pretty little thing. Besides…". He leaned a little closer to add in a loud whisper: "…she's a virgin.". I rolled my eyes. Apart from a few exceptions, my brother was as easy to see through as a clean windowpane. His fondness of virgins was well-known and a constant subject of argument between us. Sensing my annoyance he went on: "Well, you know that I like leaving an impression.".

"The only impression you leave in those girls is the strong belief that all men are selfish bastards, combined with the urgent wish to go into a convent," I retorted.

He merely laughed.

"A convent doesn't sound too bad," he remarked. "Have you never considered taking the veil, little brother? You already fulfil one condition perfectly."

My cheeks grew bright red. Although I had plenty of practice in dealing with his stupid comments, I could never think of a witty reply when he attacked me personally. If it had been for me, Philippe would have never known I was still a virgin. It had slipped out during a conversation with my oldest sister Sophie, and he had overheard it. Since that day he had devoted a much too big part of his time to curing me from the dreadful fate of virginity.

Today was no exception. When he realised I wouldn't say something, he asked me:

"So where have you been last night? It would have been such a good chance for you, with Cecile coming for dinner. She was quite annoyed when you didn't show up.".

"I'm sure you comforted her very well," I interjected.

"Well, of course I did," he said matter-of-factly. "Viviana had already left, so there was a lot of time. But that's not the point. Cecile could have been yours, and she's the perfect girl for you: experienced enough to take the lead if it's necessary, but not too much. After all, I don't want you to make a fool of yourself."

"Thank you for being that thoughtful," I snapped. "To your information: The sermon took longer than expected, so that I didn't drive home, but stayed in a room in an inn. Are you content now?"

"No," he replied simply. "Honestly, Raoul, you have to learn to establish priorities. A dinner with a girl is definitely more important than something as boring as a funeral. Besides…" He gave me a smirk. "… how long can it have taken to throw a bit of dirt on top of a cheap little opera who-?"

He never finished his sentence, for in this moment my fist collided with his jaw. I hadn't even realised that I had jumped up from the armchair.

"Don't you dare call her that!" I yelled, beside myself with rage. My breathing was laboured as I stood next to his chair, waiting for him to make the next move. If he wanted a fight, I'd be lost. He was much stronger than me. Yet at the moment I couldn't have cared less. Protecting Christine's reputation was worth it.

But to my surprise he didn't show any signs of wanting to hit me. On the contrary: After a moment's consideration he smiled at me, holding his jaw with one hand.

"All right, all right," he mumbled. "I've gone too far. That funeral thing seems to have made you a little sensitive."

I returned the smile tentatively, secretly massaging my aching hand and wondering how many more parts of my body I'd have hurt at the end of the day. Yet when he continued, my smile vanished.

"But sooner or later you'll see things from my point of view. That girl is dead, and you live. You're a man; men have needs, so it's only natural that you look for someone to satisfy them. And who could be a better help in that search than your dear brother?"

This was so like Philippe, twisting around every situation till it served his purpose. Tired of his complacency I said:

"I'll go to my room now. I have a letter to write.".

He nodded.

"But think about my words!" he advised me. "You'll realise I'm right. Oh, and could you ask Viviana to bring me something cold for my jaw? Poor Philippe, patiently enduring his younger brother's outbursts… she'll love it."

Leaving the room I could only shake my head. Sometimes the mere presence of my brother made me feel sick.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

At about one o'clock I left my room to go down to lunch. I'd have rather stayed where I was, yet my empty stomach reacted in an unmistakable way to the delicious scents that penetrated even the closed door. The low rumbling made it clear that my body demanded food as soon as possible, which was completely normal given the fact that yesterday's lunch had been the last meal I had eaten.

I went down the stairs with the intention to sit down, eat and leave again with talking as little as I could. Although my outburst had been quite liberating, I didn't plan to repeat it, particularly for my poor hand's sake. But then, I couldn't know what would happen if Philippe provoked me again. It was impossible to tell in which mood he'd be now. It strongly depended on whether Viviana would be in earshot.

Entering the dining room I encountered a pleasant surprise: The girl not only was in earshot, but she was sitting at the table with my brother.

"Raoul!" he greeted me enthusiastically. "I asked Viviana to join us. Two men alone can always do with a little company, can't they? Especially when the company is this charming…" He beamed at the girl, who blushed deeply.

Settling down I gave her a smile as well. Her presence meant that Philippe would leave me in peace. He'd be too busy acting the gentleman to try and talk to me. It was better than I could have hoped for. Moreover, she truly was a nice girl. It wasn't her fault that she was the target of my brother's latest obsession.

The meal itself probably was one of the most pleasant I had ever had with Philippe. I had to do nothing but give a brief comment every now and then, while he was talking and talking, hardly managing to stuff in a forkful of food into his mouth every now and then. Fortunately this meant there was more for me. Viviana's mother was a fantastic cook, and the fish with potatoes and other vegetables tasted like the best lunch I had eaten in a long time.

It was only when I took my third helping that I noticed how unusual my behaviour was. Since Christine's death I had hardly eaten at all, often pretending to take food to my room and throwing it away later. This was the first time in days that I had eaten a complete meal, and I actually enjoyed it. Even the white wine was delicious. I only drank one glass, though, because I was afraid it could affect me too strongly, with the little food that had been in my stomach before. And becoming the rebellious _drunk_ brother in Philippe's opinion was the last thing I wanted.

After dessert, a rich dark chocolate pudding, I excused myself and went back to my room. I couldn't help feeling that my brother wasn't sorry to get rid of me, although he had asked me to stay for a glass of sherry. Even if the person making the suggestion hadn't been him, I'd have probably declined it. I still had the lovely taste of chocolate in my mouth and didn't want to cover it with alcohol. The next time I'd meet the cook, I'd have to thank her. She had surely made the pudding, my favourite dessert, in an attempt to cheer me up. She was a very kind woman.

Arriving in my room I grabbed the next best book out of the bookshelf, sat down with it in my armchair and tried reading. Yet after ten minutes I gave up. I had read the first paragraph four times and still had no idea what it was about. My head didn't seem to be able to work at the same time as my stomach was digesting. Maybe reading was not the right pastime after such a hearty meal. A little nap would be much better. The armchair was soft, comfortable and very inviting for this kind of activity. With a content sigh I closed my eyes.

_Hands moving over my chest…_

_Lips meeting mine in a passionate kiss…_

_A body pressing against mine…_

_Back and forth… back and forth…_

_Soft flesh under my fingers… no, hard flesh… harder… and harder…_

_Wishes whispered into my ear…_

_´Touch me, Raoul… touch me…´_

_My hand moving up and down…_

_And his?_

_It does the same…_

_His touch is stronger…_

_He knows what I want… knows what I need…_

_My body is on fire…_

_I don't want it to end…_

_Never…_

"Erik!"

Slowly I opened my eyes to examine the mess I had made. One of my hands was still covering my mouth. Now I knew why my scream had sounded muffled. I couldn't help admiring my self-control a little. Yet actually it was more my self-defence that made me act like this, even in the strange state between dreaming and waking. With a brother as notoriously curious as Philippe I had learned very early to keep such noises to a minimum.

My breath was still laboured as I removed my hand and looked down at myself. I already had a fairly good idea of what I'd find. And I was right: My other hand was lying on top of the part of my trousers beneath which my by now softening manhood was hidden. Even if I hadn't felt my climax, the sticky substance would have told me what had happened. Apparently my presence of mind was not enough to open my trousers and pull out my member yet. That was something I'd have to work on.

For a few moments I simply sat there, revelling in the sensations my release had caused. But as they faded away, I grew more and more aware of the stickiness between my legs and the thin film of sweat covering my body. Reluctantly I got up from my seat. Turning around I was relieved to see that I had at least managed not to leave stains on the plush of the armchair.

I was even more relieved about the fact that I had a private bathroom, which I could enter directly from my room, without having to walk out into the corridor first. It had saved me a lot of humiliation when I had been an adolescent boy, and I could easily imagine it would come in useful again. Going into the bathroom and plunging my hands into a washbasin filled with cold water I couldn't help giving a little sigh. It was a pity that I had to remove the traces of my pleasure. But then, I couldn't stay like that either.

Half an hour later I was washed, dressed in fresh clothes and felt pleasantly refreshed. A glance on my pocket watch told me that it already was mid-afternoon. I seemed to have slept longer than I had thought. Looking out of the window I wondered what to do with the rest of the day. I was much too full of energy for a leisurely activity such as reading. The idea to write a letter had been a good excuse for Philippe, but in truth I had no one to write to except my sisters, and I didn't feel like writing to either of them now. Maybe a walk in the park would be nice. Or else… I could go to Erik.

I snapped my fingers. Of course! I'd visit Erik. The mere thought kindled a fire of longing in my belly. The climax I had had because of my dream had been pleasant, but compared to the one he had given me in person it was nothing. The longer I thought about the idea, the more I liked it. There were two problems, though: The first one was that it was still too early. I didn't even know what he did in the afternoon. He probably had important things to do, and I didn't want to disturb him. Besides, people would see me enter the opera. They would stop to talk to me or maybe even tell my brother that I had been there. No, I could only go there in the evening, during or perhaps after the performance.

The second problem was even more important: I couldn't just show up in Erik's house and demand that he kissed and touched me. I had to offer him something in return, something special. But I didn't know what. Staring out of the window I suddenly felt very disheartened. My good mood had vanished. What could I do with him that would feel just as fantastic as what he had done with me?

Of course I could try to pleasure him with my mouth as well. But frankly I was rather reluctant to do that. It was not because I didn't want to. I was simply afraid of doing it wrong. If I was completely honest with myself, I had to admit that even the thought of kissing him still made me nervous, and there were far fewer things about that which could go wrong. What if I hurt his manhood with my teeth… or simply performed my task so terribly that he'd laugh at me afterwards? I sighed. Why couldn't there be something like a book in which one could read about how to do such things?

Then I remembered a remark Erik had made. He had said that he had found out about lovemaking techniques in books. So if I read those books, too, I'd be able to pleasure him just as well as he had. At once my mood improved again. I even already had an idea where to purchase that kind of books. Sometimes it was indeed useful to have a brother like Philippe. In his wonderfully caring manner he had once told me about a small bookshop in which books for a rather special taste were sold.

_Of course I never needed them. But if you ever wonder what to do with that little singer of yours apart from going to the theatre, you know where to get the right kind of ideas from. _

Philippe's words in all their arrogance were still as vivid on my mind as on the day he had spoken them, accompanied by a suggestive wink and a piece of paper with the address on it. At that time it had been clear to me that Christine and I would wait until our wedding night and afterwards things would develop quite naturally. So I hadn't given the address a second glance. But now I was glad that it still was in the pocket of the jacket I had worn then. The way to the right street wasn't far. I'd be able to walk there, which saved me the discussion about whether one of the coachmen was free.

Fortune was smiling upon me. As I went down the stairs, I noticed my brother's favourite hat was missing from the coat rack. It turned out that he had gone out as well, which meant I didn't even have to explain where I was going or when I'd be back. No one noticed me as I left the house quickly. Now that I had something to do, I didn't want to waste any time. Taking the short cut through the park I chuckled about the fact that I was indeed going for a walk now, just for a completely different purpose.

I reached the bookshop about twenty minutes later. Slowly I opened the door, not sure what I'd find inside. My first impression was one of a large amount of books in rickety shelves, combined with the question whether anyone had ever bothered to tidy the big room. No one was there. In fact, it took me a few moments to spot the elderly man trying to squeeze yet another volume between all the other books at the bottom of a set of shelves.

"And what can I do for you, Monsieur?" he asked in a slow drawl as he straightened up, wiping his hands on his patchy trousers.

"I… erm, I'm looking for a… book," I stammered, uncertain how to put my request. I couldn't just tell him that I wanted to do research on lovemaking, could I?

"A book?" he repeated with an unpleasant smirk. Apparently he didn't think me to be especially bright. "Well, you've come to the right place then. Are you looking for a book on travel? Or maybe you'd like to have a nice romance novel for your lady friend?" The more he spoke, the less I liked him. I felt the urge to leave again, but told myself not to be such a coward.

"Yes, one could say I want a book about romance, but romance of the… physical type," I told him as boldly as I could.

The man smiled, showing crooked, yellowish teeth.

"Oh, that kind of books!" he exclaimed, as if my request had doubled his interest in me. "Why didn't you say so right away? If you'd just come over here, Monsieur…"

He led me to a door just a few feet away from where we had been standing. As he opened it, I saw that the windowless room behind it wasn't bigger than the average broom cupboard. Nevertheless, there was a set of shelves and a single chair crammed into it.

"Take your time deciding what you'd like to have. If you need something, just call," he said, pushing me inside and closing the door behind me unceremoniously.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

For a few moments I stood in front of the set of shelves a little helplessly, not sure where to start looking. There were more than a hundred books, some thick volumes and others with barely more than a couple of dozen pages. My task was made even harder by the fact that just a few of them had a title engraved in the spine. I could only guess it was like that to make them look innocent in case someone came in here unauthorised.

Assuming it didn't matter where I began, I pulled out a bright red book. Somehow the colour seemed promising. Opening it I spotted the title, written in big letters: _The Fine Art of Love_. That sounded rather good. I turned the page and started reading the preface:

_This book is meant to give basic instructions to those grooms willing to make their wedding night a moderately pleasurable experience for themselves. Furthermore it tells of those techniques which will result in the production of a child most quickly._

I didn't have to continue to know this wasn't the right kind of book for me. I was neither a groom nor worried about a wedding night or a child. Moreover, I didn't like the style of those first few sentences. _Moderately pleasurable_? If that was the most I could get, I could as well try it without such advice. I wanted to achieve something very, very pleasurable, just like the way Erik had made me feel.

Giving a little sigh I picked another book, telling myself that it would have been too good to be true if I had found the right one on the first attempt. This one was blue. Since it didn't have an introduction, I simply opened it somewhere in the middle.

_Lady Hélène looked up at Lord Albert, her chest heaving in the tightly laced corset. "You are my saviour," she breathed, her full red lips shining in the light of the full moon coming through the window. "Without you I would have never escaped from the dreadful fate of having to marry my despicable fiancé. How can I ever repay you, my Lord?" Lord Albert chuckled his deep, sensual chuckle and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. "Looking at this delectable bosom of yours I can think of quite a few things," he replied, picking her up in his strong arms and carrying her to the bed._

At this point I couldn't go on. Looking up from the page I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Did anyone actually want to read such nonsense? It certainly hadn't been a help for me. The thought of making a more or less charming remark about Erik's appearance and carrying him to his coffin finally made me burst into laughter. This couldn't be taken seriously. I was tempted to continue reading, just to enjoy myself. But then, I still had an important task. I could always go on in case I wouldn't find the right book and needed something to cheer me up with.

Placing the volume on the table, so that I'd find it again, I noticed something was already lying there. It wasn't a book, at least not in the stricter sense of the word, for it wasn't bound. It was more like a manuscript. The front page was spotlessly clean, which probably meant it hadn't lain here long enough to gather dust. It wasn't even printed, but hand-written… in a terrible scrawl, as I soon realised. It occurred to me that the printing system must have been invented because of such hand-writings.

Still there was something fascinating about that manuscript. Skimming the index I found it very well-structured. At least there would be no tedious searching here. The contents seemed to be sexuality as well as courting and marriage, but I figured I could simply skip the latter parts. Or maybe I should read a little on courting. After all, it was important when dealing with men as well, wasn't it? It definitely was the first book worth sitting down with, and that was what I did.

The title told me it didn't come from a French author, but from someone in a different country, possibly India. It sounded exotic, far more interesting than _The Fine Art of Love_. I didn't read the first part, which was dealing with society, assuming it would contain nothing useful. Instead, I started with the second one, which had the promising title _On Sexual Union_.

I hadn't even finished the first page when the urge to laugh overwhelmed me. Which author had had the glorious idea to divide men and women into animal groups judged by the size of their genitals, which had the strange names _lingam_ and _yoni_? Stifling giggles with my hand I couldn't help thinking about which category I belonged to. Was I a bull or a horse? I could only hope I wasn't a hare…

Before I had the chance to start pondering, I quickly continued. I realised in surprise that there were chapters on anything remotely sexual, from embracing and kissing to scratching and biting. Somehow I couldn't imagine Erik would approve of me doing the latter things with him. Besides, even I didn't think one had to read about kissing. I also skipped the part on beating one's partner, suspecting he'd rather kill me than let me do something like that.

A few chapters later I found what I had been looking for: _On the Auparishtaka or Mouth Congress_. I was a little irritated as I learned that in that society such things were done by eunuchs, preferably with men they were shampooing. By some parts of society it even seemed to be considered unhealthy and dangerous, for the eunuch's teeth could hurt his master's manhood. This was a worry I had had before, and of course I wasn't pleased to find it confirmed.

Yet there also were parts of the chapter I enjoyed reading, namely the description of the things the eunuch could do with his mouth.

"When, holding the lingam in his hand, the eunuch kisses it as if he were kissing the lower lip, it is called ´pressing´," I read to myself. " When, after kissing it, he touches it with his tongue everywhere, and passes his tongue over the end of it, it is called ´rubbing´. When, in the same way, he puts the half of it into his mouth, and forcibly kisses and sucks it, this is called ´sucking a mango fruit´."

Although the latter name made me chuckle, it was impossible to ignore the physical effect reading such things had on me. Involuntarily my hand wandered to my crotch. I had to remind myself forcefully that I was not at home, but in a bookshop. If I started pleasuring myself in here, the elderly man who had let me in would probably come in to check whether I needed anything.

So I tried to focus on something else than my semi-hard member, which was easier said than done while doing research about such delicious a topic. I wanted every single of those things performed on my body. Yet I also wanted to do them myself. I wanted to kiss Erik's manhood, I wanted to lick it and put it into my mouth. I knew I had to be careful with my teeth, but after all, last night it had been his first time doing it, and he hadn't hurt me either. So I allowed myself to be confident.

There was just one things I didn't agree with. Why should this only be an act performed by eunuchs and female servants? Erik had done it with me, and I'd never call him inferior to me. I had once thought so, and it had nearly cost my life. I recalled the moments when his mouth had worked on my member. I hadn't felt superior at that time. On the contrary: I had been reduced to a throbbing mass of flesh, completely dependent on him.

With a start I realised that this was one of the reasons why I was so keen on doing this with him: I wanted to melt Erik's often cold and reserved exterior to reveal the real person behind it. I was desperate to make him moan my name and urge me to go on. The thought made me shiver pleasantly, and I could barely keep my hand from trailing downwards again. Would I really be able to do it as well as he had?

Why not? I felt a fresh wave of energy surge through me. Erik himself hadn't had anything but books either, and his attempt at pleasuring me had been brilliant. So why shouldn't I do the same? After all, it was not as if I were particularly clumsy, and he hadn't complained about the way I had kissed and touched him. Maybe he'd enjoy the next step just as much.

Determined to make the most of this rare burst of self-confidence, I threw a glance at my pocket watch, delighted to see it already was half past seven. By the time I'd arrive at the opera, the performance would have begun, and it would be safe to go in there. Admittedly I didn't know what Erik was doing at that time, whether he sat somewhere, waiting for the right moment to disturb everyone, or was at home, waiting… for me?

This thought made me positively elated. Erik, waiting for me… it almost sounded too good to be true. Almost. I glided to the door rather than walking there. Opening it I saw the man standing right in front of it. Briefly I wondered whether he had heard the sound of me getting up from the chair or had been there all the time.

"Did you find something, Monsieur?" he asked with something he probably considered a friendly smile. It was only then that I realised I still held the manuscript in my hand. I had been too absorbed in reading it to think about whether I wanted to take it home with me. Yet I didn't hesitate for long.

"Yes, I'd like to have this one," I told the man, showing it to him.

Taking it from me he walked a few steps towards the nearest source of light. He scanned the manuscript for a few moments, then shook his head, frowning.

"That's not one of my books," he muttered dismissively. "It's not even bound. I don't buy things like that for my customers."

"But it was lying on the table in your back room," I argued, feeling puzzled. If it wasn't his book, whose was it?

The man shrugged.

"Then someone must have left it there," he said. "Sometimes people bring me books they've written or translated themselves and leave them in the back room for others to read."

"So I can't buy it?" I wanted to know. I could have kicked myself. The only book I would have liked to possess belonged to somebody else.

Yet the man told me: "Of course you can buy it. If those things lie around here in my shop, they belong to me. So I can sell them. For one Franc it's yours.".

Assuming that I approved of his attitude would have been far from the truth. Still I took out my purse and gave him the necessary amount of money, receiving the manuscript in return. I was too keen on having it to ask many question. It had made me self-confident once, which was more than could be said about most books. The man pocketed the coin hastily and ushered me to the entrance door, probably sensing that I had no intention to buy anything else today. Moreover, another customer was just entering the back room.

"Come back soon!" the man called, nearly pushing me out into the street.

I was still shaking my head incredulously as I walked down the street, holding the sheets of paper in an unobtrusive way at my side. This man wasn't exactly the friendliest person I had ever met, and his shop was not a place I'd have usually entered. Still I knew that maybe I'd come back there, and it didn't even make me worried. It was just one of the things that had started changing about me in the last few days.

A little while later I reached the opera. I strolled to the main entrance, pretending to be nothing but a visitor who was late for the performance. No one noticed me. The only people still in the street were a few coachmen, and they were busy talking. I slipped inside quickly, my heart beating excitedly. In just a few minutes' time I'd see Erik, smell him, feel him… Marching down a corridor I couldn't help chuckling softly, thinking that only a few months ago the idea of me going to see Erik had been completely absurd.

My joy came to an abrupt end as I arrived at the door leading down to his world. It was locked, and it stubbornly remained locked, no matter how often I pushed down the handle. What was I to do now? I was aware that there were several other entrances. The problem was that I didn't know where they could be found, and I doubted I'd simply stumbled across one of them. They surely were very well-hidden.

So all I could do was wander around in the opera, hoping I'd find him… or rather, hoping he'd find me. Turning around I walked back the way I had come from, then down a corridor, through a door, down another corridor… After a few minutes I noticed my feet had carried me in the direction of the dressing rooms. ´Old habits die hard,´ I thought with a wry smile, asking myself whether I should dare cast a glance into Christine's old room. Mme.Giry had told me before the funeral that they hadn't removed her things yet. Would it be so terrible to have a brief look inside before continuing to search for Erik?

The door wasn't locked. I opened it slowly, as if I were doing something forbidden. All things were indeed still exactly the way I remembered them: the wardrobe, the dressing table, the huge mirror, her beloved little sofa… The breath caught in my throat as I realised something was wrong. Why could I see all that in the dark room? The answer was simple: It wasn't dark at all. There was a small lantern on the floor, the light casting shadows on the furniture.

A man was kneeling next to the lantern, his back facing me. Yet one look at the fedora told me who it was. In his hands he was holding a dress – the costume Christine had worn as Aminta in "Don Juan Triumphant". He lifted it to his face, inhaled deeply and let it sink again.

"Christine…" he whispered. "Christine, I'm so sorry… I didn't mean for any of it to happen between him and me… Forgive me, please…"

I watched the scene with baited breath, feeling a little part of my heart die.

**Author's note:** The book Raoul is so fascinated with is the Kama Sutra, which I do not own, of course. I've taken over chapter titles, several terms and the one quote I used. The other two books are my own invention.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

It was over, over before it had really begun. I wanted my thoughts to stop, but they kept invading my head. Erik hadn't meant it to happen. Of course… I had just been there, and he had taken me because he'd never get the chance to experience physical affection with anyone else, man or woman. What did he care about my feelings or about the fact that my whole life had started to change because of him?

It probably hadn't meant anything to him. But why had it felt so good then? Shouldn't I have noticed something in his behaviour? My brother had told me more than once that sleeping with a prostitute felt like sleeping with any other girl, but I had never believed him, seeing it as what it had actually been: an attempt to make me join him on one of his nightly visits in a brothel. Yet maybe it was true after all. Or maybe I was just stupid, imagining emotions that weren't really there. It was not as if I had expected him to love me or anything that absurd, of course I hadn't. Still… I had thought he at least liked me a little.

I wanted to shout or cry or destroy something, just to make that hollow feeling in my chest go away. The hole Christine's death had torn into my body was back, and now that it hadn't been this obvious for a while, it was worse than ever. I wondered if I would ever be free from it again.

My hands were shaking so badly that the manuscript slipped to the floor. I glanced down at it, making no move to pick it up. I had been so proud of my new knowledge, and now I'd never need it. It was hard to accept that I had prepared myself for pleasuring a man who had only used me. And here I was, hoping he'd have understood me.

At least he didn't seem to have heard the sound of the falling sheets of paper. I didn't want him to notice me, to turn around and make a scornful remark about me being there. Yet most of all I didn't want him to send me away. For some reason I quite liked standing here and watching him on the floor, all weak and vulnerable. Perhaps a small part of me was also hoping he'd take his words back.

I soon noticed the reason why he hadn't heard me was that he was sobbing too hard. Only after one or two minutes he continued talking.

"I… I know I told you I'd love you forever, and I do… please don't think that I do not!" he whispered in such a low voice that I had to take a step forwards in order to continue listening, inwardly thanking whoever was responsible for it at the opera that the floor wasn't creaking. I smiled slightly. Those words didn't hurt me. Naturally he loved Christine. So did I.

"But you don't know what it was like when you died!" This time it was half cry, half sob. "I felt so empty… And then Raoul came along… I'm using his first name now, did you hear that? You'd have liked it…" I couldn't keep my heart from swelling with emotion. Even thought he doubtlessly was about to say how much he regretted everything, I enjoyed being called ´Raoul´ by him. That name alone was like a caress.

In the lantern's soft light I saw him pull out a handkerchief. A moment later he blew his nose. Yet even that sound didn't break the spell I was under. Mesmerized I waited for him to go on.

"I have no idea why all that happened between us. He was just… there…" I held my breath. The unpleasant part was about to begin. "But it felt good, and I wanted it to happen again. And when he met after… well, after your funeral… He touched my face, just like that! It was something you'd have done as well…"

I swallowed hard, fighting back the emotions rising from my chest. Why did he have to say things in that gentle voice, as if he cared for me? Couldn't he simply crush my heart with his foot and get over with it? Apparently he couldn't.

"I really wanted to do something good for him as well. That was why I… did what I did. I even enjoyed it… and I'd like to do it again some day." The last part had been so soft that I was almost certain I had only imagined it.

Yet there was no mistaking the next words, for they were loud again.

"And now I have all those feelings for him inside me, feelings I don't even have a name for… and I'm so sorry because I've sworn myself that there'd never be someone else. I also feel stupid because I have those feelings for him. All he wanted from me was comfort, for whatever reason, and I had to interpret something else into it."

He gave a bitter laugh.

"When he woke up this morning, he was surely glad that I was gone and spared him the sight of my ugly face… and then he spent an hour washing himself to make the feeling of my fingers and my mouth go away!"

If only I could have told him how wrong he was! But I found myself unable to speak. First I wanted to hear all he had to say. I'd never get such an insight into his mind again.

"Do you know what the worst thing about it is, Christine?" he asked. "The worst thing is that I still hope he'll come to me and tell me that he also has those feelings – whatever they are! But then, I was also hoping you'd come back to me. Someone like me should have really given up hope by now."

Sensing the finality of his statement, I chose this moment to approach him. A hundred more or less intelligent remarks were on my mind, yet in the end I decided not to say anything, mainly because I didn't trust my voice not to give away the state I was in. He had feelings for me! I could scarcely believe it. And he was afraid I might not feel the same, just like me!

I tapped his shoulder lightly… only to regret it a moment later. His reflexes were excellent in every situation. In one second he was sitting on the floor, and I was leaning down to him, and in the next one he had pinned me to the floor, lying on top of me. His hand had closed around my throat before I could do anything about it. At another time I would have marvelled at his speed. Today I was too busy trying to save my life. I gave a strange gurgling sound, my hands desperately clawing at his arms as the lack of air became worse.

It only lasted for a few moments. Then he seemed to have recognised me even through the thin film of tears in his eyes. Yet if I had hoped for a friendly welcome – I wasn't foolish enough to expect an apology – I'd have been disappointed.

"Oh, it's you," he said, loosening the grip around my throat just enough to allow me to breathe properly, which was the first thing I did. "What do you want?"

It was difficult to find an answer. I was dizzy, and it did not only come from the momentary lack of air. His body felt so good on top of mine, and I couldn't help wishing we weren't wearing all those clothes, wishing he ran his hands all over me, wishing he kissed my throat instead of –

"What do you want?" Erik repeated impatiently.

At last I managed to pull myself together.

"I… erm, wanted to visit you," I replied, focusing on the shadows on the ceiling. Anything was better than thinking about how good - ´Stop!´ I scolded myself. I needed my mind here with me now, not somewhere in the depths of my imagination.

"Visit me?" he snarled. "You mean taunt me! How long have you been standing there?"

"A few minutes, maybe," I answered in a small voice. His face was hovering over mine, so that I couldn't see the ceiling anymore. Now nothing could distract me from the warmth coming from his body. How could I have ever thought it would be cold? The only cold part of him were his eyes. Automatically I started apologising. "I know I should have knocked, but I was sure the room would be empty. I didn't mean to… eavesdrop on you."

"Then why did you do it?" he asked. "This was a private conversation, and you just came in to laugh at me." He shifted his weight slightly, making me only too aware of the fact that he had pushed one of his legs between mine to steady himself. If it had been a few inches higher… I bit back a moan of longing.

"I'd never laugh at you," I pointed out, admiring my ability to sound sensible even under such difficult circumstances. "Nobody would do that – unless they were tired of living."

Erik nodded briefly, reluctant to admit I was right.

"How much have you heard?" he wanted to know, his voice growing a little softer. He even removed his hand from my throat. At least I was in no immediate danger of being killed anymore, which definitely was an advantage. Still I had to be careful with what I was saying.

"You were talking to Christine, telling her that something happened between you and me and that you regretted it," I answered, only to be interrupted by him.

"I never said I regretted it," he corrected me. "I said I didn't mean for it to happen, in the sense that I hadn't expected or planned it. You surely didn't mean for it to happen either, and does that automatically mean you regret it?"

"Of course not!" I exclaimed, surprising myself just as much as him.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he straightened up and pulled me into a sitting position as well. But then he did something that puzzled me: He guided me to sit with my back leaning against his.

"People tend to speak more freely when they don't see the other person," he explained, and I couldn't help thinking that in his case that was true. If he had seen me – well, if he had known I were there – he'd have never said all those things. "And now tell me what else you heard!"

"Well, you were talking about the feelings you have for me," I muttered hesitantly. It wasn't easy to speak of such things. Yet in a way he was right: Looking at him would have been even harder.

"Yes, those feelings," he echoed in a voice so sad that it almost made me cry. "You should have never heard that. I'm sorry. I know you're just looking for consolation and a chance to enjoy yourself, and for some reason you've chosen me…"

This time I interrupted him.

"How can you know what I'm looking for?" I asked him. "You have many talents, but mind-reading is not one of them. The consolation part is true, but if I just wanted to enjoy myself, I could have found someone more… approachable than you, if you know what I mean."

"What is it you want then?" he asked. "What are… what are your feelings for me?" The nervous shifting of his body told me how hard it was for him to ask such a question. I doubted I'd have done it myself.

Blindly I groped at our side till my hand met his. He wasn't wearing gloves today, so that I could trace all the little lines on the back of his hand while I was talking. It was very soothing.

"I'm not sure," I said, which was a reply both honest and stupid. "I mean, I'm not sure what to call them. When I think of you, it makes me feel… good." That was a little better, but not much. I had to explain it in more detail. "It makes me feel all warm inside, and it keeps me from thinking of Christine."

The muscles on his back grew tense.

"And that's a good thing?" he wanted to know. There was just a little harshness in his voice, almost as if he were holding himself back for the sake of keeping the conversation civil. It occurred to me that it meant just as much to him as it meant to me.

"In the way I'm referring to it is a good thing," I replied calmly, pressing my back against his. "I do still think of her, but I'm not that desperate anymore. I no longer feel as if I had died with her, and I believe that's because of you."

At last I managed to stop myself, feeling as if I had spoken the biggest nonsense – and in front of him of all people.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "That was probably more than you ever wanted to know. I shouldn't have said any of it. It's wrong to talk that much about feelings anyway," I added defiantly. "Men don't do that."

Erik gave a groan.

"Is that another word of wisdom from your brother?" he asked. "Just because he has no one to talk to about his feelings – if he has any, I wouldn't be too sure about that – it doesn't mean you're not allowed to do it either. Did you never tell Christine what you were feeling for her?" Now his voice sounded genuinely worried, as if he were afraid I had missed a chance.

Yet I could assure him it was not like that.

"Yes, I did," I replied. "But that was different. Women… they like those things."

"Oh, and you hate them?" By now I didn't even have to see his face to know that he was smirking. "First you listened to me reveal my feelings, then we talked about them. If you had been so bored by it, you could have left and watched the performance instead. The people who talk about their feelings there at least do so in Italian."

"I wasn't bored," I told him gently, my fingers still stroking his hand. "I enjoyed it, especially because your feelings are so much like mine. I'm sorry that I annoy you with the things I've learned from my brother, but that's simply the way I've been brought up. I'm also sorry that I apologise so often, but – " For once I was glad about Erik's reflexes. He managed to cut off my stupid sentence with a kiss before I had even noticed he had turned around. His lips were soft and warm and wonderfully familiar.

"Could you do that every time I start talking nonsense?" I asked, still a little breathlessly, as the kiss ended.

"Only when I'm around," he answered meaningfully, his golden eyes boring into mine. His fingers began to wander over my face, caressing the flawless skin, but to me it was as if he were touching my very heart. It was a strange sensation, strange and wonderful. I swallowed hard. My next question required a lot of courage.

"Would you like to do that… I mean, would you like to be around me more often? Meet me more often, maybe… do things together?"

Silently I pleaded that he'd say yes. If he said no… well, I wasn't sure what exactly I'd do, but crying would definitely be included.

"I'd like that," he whispered. "Very much…"

This time it was I who started the kiss. It was longer than the first one, but not less gentle, lacking the passion of those that had led to us taking off our clothes rather quickly in the past. It was… the kiss of a lover.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

When the kiss ended, Erik smiled at me.

"There's something I'd like to give you," he said mysteriously. He rummaged in his pockets for a while, then pulled out a small silvery object. In the candlelight I recognised it as a key.

"Is that the key to your house?" I asked, but he shook his head.

"You'll find that I rarely lock my door," he replied. "If someone manages to get all the way down to my home, a simple lock won't stop them. No, it's much better." He looked at me expectantly, and I realised he wanted me to keep guessing. I'd have never thought he could be this playful. Yet apparently the few minutes in which we had talked about our feelings had brought that out in him.

"Is it for the chorus girls' dressing room?" I asked with a little smile. If he was playful, I could try to adapt to his mood. Again, he shook his head.

"That would be a suitable present for your brother, but not for you," he answered.

"Is it for the managers' office?" I wanted to know.

"You'd be surprised how boring it is in there," he told me. "They don't even have decent brandy anymore these days. The key is for _this _room."

"Oh," I made, not sure what to think. "Well, that's… nice. Now I'll be able to remove Christine's things. But certainly Mme.Giry would have given me a key as well if I…"

"No, she wouldn't have done that," Erik interrupted me impatiently. "Apart from my own, this is the only key that exists for the door. Don't you understand what this means?"

"No one can come in?" I guessed not very intelligently. He rolled his eyes, a reaction I completely deserved.

"Yes, but that's not the point," he called. "Did Christine never tell you about the mirror?" He gestured at the large mirror.

Slowly memories came to my head.

"It is an entrance to your world," I muttered, surprised about myself because I had actually used the words ´your world´. He seemed to have noticed it as well, for his smile widened.

"This key makes you the only person who can enter my realm," he declared, placing it in my open hand like in a ceremony. As much as I hated to disturb the moment, there was something I had to say, though.

"I'm very grateful," I told him. "But I can't be the only person able to come to you. What about the other entrance, the one Mme.Giry showed me on the first night of ´Don Juan Triumphant´? So many people used it after us. They all know it."

"You don't have to worry about that," he assured me. "A few weeks after all that had happened I equipped that passage with various kinds of traps. Nobody can get through it anymore."

"But I did," I reminded him, feeling terrible for contracting him again and dampening his spirits. "I used that entrance when I came to you that first time a few nights ago. You know, Christine only told me there was an entrance behind the mirror, but not how to work it. So I couldn't have come through it."

Was it a trick of the light, or had the one cheek I could see from Erik's face just flushed?

"After I heard about Christine's death… I was confused…" he muttered. "I must have… forgotten to activate the traps…"

"You're one fine Opera Ghost," I said, suppressing a chuckle. "What if a chorus girl had come to your house instead of me?"

"They wouldn't have dared do that," he dismissed my idea at once. "Only someone very brave or very stupid would have done that."

"In which category do I belong?" I asked, giving my voice the same playful tone I had used before.

"In the category ´very handsome´," he told me softly, kissing my lips.

Without hesitation I wrapped my arms around him. Now that I knew his feelings and mine were similar, everything was much easier. I even dared part his lips with my tongue and sneak it into his mouth. The feeling of it surprised me every time. It was warm and wet, and when his tongue pressed against mine, I moaned into his mouth. His arms held me to his chest, and I felt the warmth seeping through his clothes. He was indeed not cold, not at all…

Slowly he started lowering my upper body to the floor. I pulled him down with me, unwilling to part from him for as long as a second. Yet as soon as I was lying, I felt something peculiar at my back. It was soft, completely unlike the floor… Christine's costume. Erik noticed it at the same time as I did. We both straightened up hastily. Then we looked down at the dress. How could an innocent piece of clothing make me feel like an insensitive, disgusting man who had no sense of decency?

My mouth was very dry as asked him:

"Do you think Christine would have… well, approved of us… being together?".

He remained silent, staring at the costume as if the answer were written on it. After a few moments he looked up at me again, and he was smiling.

"Christine wanted the people she loved to be happy, especially the two of us," he said firmly. "And if being together makes us feel good, why shouldn't she approve?" Now I smiled as well. I liked his way of thinking.

"That does sound like her," I agreed. "Still… we should better continue… erm, whatever we were about to do somewhere else. Being here makes me a little uneasy, as if she were…"

"…watching us," he finished my sentence. I nodded, glad that I wasn't the only one with that impression. "Yes, we can go somewhere else…" Under the pretence of fetching his fedora, which had landed on the floor when he had pounced at me, he brushed his hand over the junction of my legs, whispering: "…but only if you tell me what we were about to do.".

I swallowed hard, fighting the first signs of my arousal. ´Not now!´ I shouted inwardly.

"I… erm, wanted to do something for… erm, you," I stammered, blushing furiously. "I wanted to do what… well, what you did with me last night…"

My last words had been barely more than a whisper. Still he had heard me. Raising an eyebrow he remarked:

"Well… well, that's definitely something you shouldn't do here… if you should do it at all, that is…".

That was not the reaction I had expected. I had known that maybe he'd be discontent with my ´performance´ and tell me so afterwards in his charming way, but I'd have never thought he'd reject me right away, especially after we had got along so well all the time.

"So you don't want me?" I muttered.

Erik's eyes grew wide as he realised which effect his comment had had on me.

"Of course I want you," he assured me. "If you knew how much I want you, you'd be shocked. And the thought of you kneeling in front of me, those luscious lips on my penis… Oh, it makes me want to rip off my clothes and just let you do it!"

"You've got quite the talent for words," I mumbled hoarsely. For the second time in minutes I had to fight my arousal. How could merely listening to him make me hard? A brief glance at his crotch told me it was the same for him. My hand seemed to have developed a mind of its own, for it sneaked into his lap and started caressing his growing manhood through his trousers.

"Then why don't you just let me do it?" I asked him in a low voice. "I can't promise it'll be as fantastic as what you did, but I can at least try it, can't - ?" My voice trailed off as I looked at his face. It was lit up by a smile, and I suspected it had not only to do with the position of my hand.

"You… you really liked what I was doing?" he whispered.

"Yes," I replied simply. "I wouldn't have believed anything could feel like that, and I want you to feel just as wonderful as I did."

"So you would not only do it because I did it and you think you have to repay me?" he wanted to know.

Instead of giving a reply I seized his hand and brought it to the place where I wanted to have it.

"This is what happened to me while you were talking about what you'd like me to do," I explained, pressing his palm against my straining manhood. "I want to do it, Erik."

"Let's get out of here quickly then," he growled, standing up. "Otherwise I can't guarantee I won't ask you to do it in this room, Christine or not."

I nodded reluctantly, putting the precious key into my pocket. The longer I stayed here, the less I cared about the meaning of the room. Still I knew that if we actually did anything in here, my memories would always be tainted. So I let him pull me to my feet.

We were quite a nice sight as we stood there, our breathing hard and our erections visible through the fabric of our trousers. Instinctively my hand moved down to hide my arousal, but I stopped it. Why shouldn't he see how he made me feel? Erik leaned down to pick up the lantern, then he went over to the door and locked it. Since he hadn't let go of my other hand, he was dragging me along like an unwilling child. Yet I didn't try to free myself. I felt the underlying urgency in his controlled motions, and it made me excited.

When we reached the mirror, he explained:

"We still have to tidy up, but we'll do that later. Now we've got more important matters to attend to.".

He gave a soft chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine and exactly into my member. I couldn't hold back a moan. Throwing me a sideways glance he went on:

"Actually I wanted to show you how to work the mirror slowly and in every detail. Yet since you seem to be a little impatient, we'll have to do it more quickly.". Looking down I suppressed a smile. I wasn't the only one impatient.

"So…" he said, leading my hand to the upper edge of the mirror. "In the middle there's a small switch… Do you feel it?"

"Yes," I replied. Yet in addition to the switch I was feeling something else. He had half turned around, and his manhood was pressing into my thigh. Apparently he had noticed it as well, for his voice sounded rather strained as he continued:

"And now you have to press it down…".

I barely heard him, for the blood was pounding in my ears. He had leaned over even more and was rubbing himself against me, which made it a little difficult to follow his instructions at the same time. His breath was hot against my neck, and when he started placing kisses there, I felt as if I'd come right then.

"You're distracting me," I murmured.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, tickling my earlobe with his tongue. I shuddered.

"Never!" I replied.

At last I managed to push down the switch, and the glass of the mirror slid aside to reveal a dark passageway. Actually it had been rather simple.

"And what about this process would you have liked to demonstrate in every detail?" I couldn't help asking.

"Oh, I'd have found something," he told me, and I believed him. But I was grateful he hadn't insisted on the full demonstration. There were more… well, pressing matters.

Erik pulled me over the threshold. The darkness had given way to the warm glow of the lantern, which he placed on the floor.

"You have to press this button, then the mirror closes again. Or it opens, in case it was closed before," he explained hurriedly, while the mirror slid shut.

I waited exactly one moment until after he was finished. Then there was no holding back for me. I pressed him against the wall and started kissing him.

His response was very eager. He didn't seem to mind that for once I was in charge of the situation. While my tongue invaded his mouth, his hands wandered down my back till they reached my backside. He squeezed my buttocks teasingly, and I gave a small yelp into his mouth. As a way of repaying him, I pressed my body against his, bringing his manhood and mine together.

Now it was his turn to moan into my mouth. Pulling away from me for a moment he said:

"We should really go to my home now, before something very embarrassing happens to either of us.".

"Why?" I asked simply. "I… I think I can do it here."

"But it's not very comfortable," he argued, though the greedy glance in his eyes spoke a different language.

"Your floor wasn't very comfortable either," I gave back. "Moreover, it's still a long journey to your house. I don't want to wait that long, and you…" I thrust my hips forwards, making him moan again. "…you don't want to do it either," I finished with a grin.

"You can be very persuasive," he remarked, letting his hands brush over my buttocks. If only we had been naked! "But at least take this…" Pushing my arms aside gently he took a step forwards and removed his cloak. Spreading it onto the stone floor he explained: "You can kneel down on it.".

"Thank you," I said as he leaned against the wall again.

"Since I'm the one who'll have all the pleasure, I should thank you," he stressed.

"You can do that afterwards… if you still want to do it then," I muttered. Looking down at the cloak I gulped, feeling more than just a little nervous. Maybe I should have taken the manuscript with me.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Author's note: **I'd like to say thank you to my reviewers. You're very kind and supportive, and I'm glad you like my story.

**Chapter Ten**

It was a strange feeling to know that he knew what I was about to do. I saw the expectant sparkle in his eyes. Of course I could have extinguished the light in the lantern, but that wouldn't have made my task any easier. Besides, I wanted to see what I was doing. It reduced the risk of hurting him, which still was a fear almost as big as that of making a fool of myself.

It occurred to me that I couldn't just pull down his trousers and start pleasuring him. Even with the knowledge that eventually I'd be doing it, I wanted things to proceed slowly, naturally. So I began to kiss him. It was a nice kiss, but I soon realised something was wrong: Our bodies weren't touching, because he was leaning against the wall and I was standing on the other side of the cloak he had spread out on the floor.

"Can I… step onto it?" I asked hesitantly.

"Of course," he replied readily. Seeing me make the first, very cautious step he exclaimed: "Oh, just do it!". He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me onto the cloak so quickly that I had no time to worry about whether he'd kill me if I got it dirty. I was too busy gasping in surprise as he pressed his lips against mine. He took advantage of it by slipping his tongue into my mouth.

I simply let myself go. Slowly my manhood awakened again, pressing against his thigh. I moved a little to the side, and my member met his. To my delight it was growing hard as well. So my initial hesitation hadn't decreased his arousal completely. I was very glad about it.

Yet after a few moments I noticed I wasn't in charge of the situation. And that was what I wanted… wasn't it? If I didn't take the lead now, I'd certainly not dare do it later. So I ended the kiss abruptly. He threw me a questioning glance, but seemed content when my lips moved down his neck, placing kisses on the slightly rough skin. Maybe he should put a bit more effort into shaving.

From his neck it was only a short way to the base of his throat. I teased the sensitive hollow I found there with my teeth, earning a soft moan. His reaction encouraged me to go on. I brought my hands to the top buttons of his shirt and started undoing them, letting my lips follow my fingers. I didn't take off the shirt completely, afraid it might be too cold for him in the corridor. I had to be content with opening it enough to work on his nipple; fortunately he didn't wear an undershirt. I nibbled them gently, one after the other. They were such cute little buds that I almost forgot they weren't my actual target.

It was only when I felt his manhood poke me that I remembered what I had promised him to do. I kneeled down on the cloak, noticing that my head was in exactly the right height now: directly in front of his crotch. With sweaty fingers I opened his trousers and pulled them down slowly… very slowly… too slowly, at least for his taste.

"Raoul," he growled. "I don't like to be kept waiting. So go on." It almost sounded like an order… almost, for I hadn't failed to hear the slight trembling in his voice that gave away how eager he was.

Perhaps I would have teased him longer, but I was too keen on doing it. In those moments when I left his trousers somewhere at his knees and stared at the very prominent bulge in his underwear all my doubts were forgotten. I'd simply do it now and worry about it later.

I held my breath as I let his underwear join his trousers and got my first view of his member at such a short distance. I touched it softly with my finger, and it twitched impatiently. Growing more courageous I wrapped my hand around the base of it to hold it in place and gave the tip a first tentative kiss.

A strangled cry escaped Erik's lips, and I knew I had to go on now. And that was what I did. I was licking and sucking and touching, and everything felt completely natural. Not once did I have the impression that I needed the manuscript. I even forgot it existed, just like I forgot the mirror we had come through, the corridor and the stone floor. All that mattered was pleasuring him as well as I could.

My reward was huge. It consisted of moans, gasps and sharp intakes of breath, mixed with an occasional word of praise. At least I assumed the sounds that spilled from his lips were words of praise. They didn't belong to any language I had ever heard. Still I quickly learned they showed me I had done something right. I grew very sensitive, interpreting each of his reactions and trying to adapt. It wasn't an easy task, but I loved every moment of it. It was so good that I even forgot my own arousal.

Just like myself, he didn't last very long. Despite the state he was in, he had enough presence of mind to push me backwards before he came. I landed hard on my back, yet my yelp of pain was drowned by his loud moan of pleasure. Looking up at him I saw his face – or at least half of it – contorted with pure bliss. It was… beautiful. There was no other word to describe it.

I watched his face, the full lips forming sounds of pleasure, the eyes squeezed shut, till he was finished. His whole body was shaking. He barely managed to tuck himself away and pull up his underwear and trousers before he slid down the wall, collapsing in a heap on the floor. At once I was at his side, carefully avoiding the puddle of his seed. I wrapped my arms around him, cradling his head against my chest. He didn't protest against my treatment of him, which was rather surprising. But then, he was probably simply too weak at the moment.

After one or two minutes he seemed to have regained the strength to lift his head and look at me.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"You're welcome," I gave back. "Did you… like it?"

Oh yes, he was definitely feeling stronger. The smirk that appeared on his face spoke a very clear language.

"Do you really think all that could have been just a show?" he asked me.

"Maybe you were just being friendly…" I muttered. A moment later I remembered who I was talking to and couldn't help smiling. "Oh… I guess you don't often do things just for the sake of being friendly."

"Very rarely," he agreed. "Besides, what would be the point in lying about such a thing? This was probably not the last time you've done this for me, and I expect the next time to be just as fantastic. If it had been terrible, I'd have told you right away."

"Good to know," I commented dryly. I wasn't sure whether I liked the idea of him telling me exactly what he thought of my qualities as a lover. He had the annoying habit of being very honest.

"I liked it," he assured me again, straightening up, so that we were sitting side by side. "What about you? Did you enjoy doing it?" The trace of concern in his voice made me feel all warm inside. I nodded.

"I liked doing it _for you_," I stressed. "But it was also a good feeling for me. You understand that, don't you? After all, you've done it as well…"

Boldly I tried to meet his eye, only to find that his gaze had wandered lower… _much_ lower. I blushed instantly.

"You can't see my… erm, excitement anymore," I explained hastily. "I tried to… touch myself at the same time as… well, doing you, but it didn't work. So I focused on you and ignored myself. And now it's… gone." My cheeks grew ever redder. I wasn't used to talking about my arousal.

"Do you want me to make it come back?" he asked with a slight grin. It was a tempting offer, at least until I noticed he was still trembling from the intensity of his release.

"Maybe later," I replied. "At the moment I'm feeling quite comfortable the way I am."

"Oh," he made. "And I was just about to ask you whether you'd like to come down to my home. But if you enjoy being in this corridor so much that you prefer staying here…"

"No, no," I said quickly. "I'd like to come. But are you sure you can walk all the way yet? You look a little weak."

"I'm fine," he assured me shortly. He came to his feet, as if to underline his words. He staggered slightly, but I didn't dare argue a second time. I merely stood up as well and picked up his cloak, while he buttoned his shirt.

"Thank you for letting me use it," I said. His only reaction was snatching the piece of clothing out of my hands and wrapping it around his thin body. Then he seized the lantern and started walking down the corridor without a single word.

I followed him, completely intimidated by his sudden coldness. Just a few minutes ago we had sat there, content with each other and the situation, and now he was marching away so quickly that I almost had to run to catch up with him. What on earth had I done wrong? Perhaps he was angry because I had rejected his offer to pleasure me. But he had still been friendly afterwards. It could also be something entirely different. With him I could never tell.

If only he had talked to me! Yes, I still feared his sarcastic remarks, but even they were better than the silence enveloping me like an icy cloud of unfriendliness. My fingers were trembling, so I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket, angry with myself. I didn't want him to see how much his behaviour hurt me. But then, he didn't turn around anyway. I wondered why I was following him at all. It was probably just the vague hope that things would miraculously become right again.

It all happened too quickly for me to comprehend: In one moment I was still walking a few steps behind Erik, and in the next moment I tripped over something lying on the ground, invisible in the semi-darkness. I stumbled sideways, towards the wall. Yet a split-second before my head collided with the rough stones Erik was there. Erik, who caught me in his arms. Erik, who brought me to my feet again and asked:

"Are you all right?".

"Yes," I muttered, letting my fingers wander over the stones. Some of them had razor-sharp edges. It was only then that I understood how lucky I had been. If my head had come into contact with them, I could have started looking for something to wipe the blood away with. If I had still been conscious, that was… "Thank you," I added after a moment.

"Never mind," he said. His voice sounded a little friendlier. "You have to be more careful down here."

"I would have been more careful," I defended myself. "I was just thinking about… Why have you been so cold towards me before?" I blurted out.

"You said I was too weak for walking," he replied, as if everything were clear now.

"So?" I asked blankly. I couldn't draw the connection between a simple remark and his unfriendliness.

"It was not just that," he explained with a little sigh. "It was the way in which you treated me all the time that bothered me. You were much too nice and even concerned about my well-being. I'm not used to that…" His voice trailed off as he glanced at me, searching for signs of understanding in my face.

Comprehension sank in slowly. In his long life, people had probably never treated Erik with anything but disgust and hatred, so he didn't know how to deal with other feelings. Yet that was something I intended to change. I was filled with the urge to shower him with affection.

"Am I the first person to be friendly to you?" I wanted to know, even though I was aware there had been at least one other. I just wanted to make him start talking.

He shook his head.

"Not the first one, but one of the few and the only one at the moment," he corrected me, making a wave of pride well up inside me.

"Will you tell me about the others? About all others, I mean? About your life?" I asked.

"Maybe," he replied. "Maybe soon."

As we continued our way, our hands found each other.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

I walked with Erik down the corridor, then down another one and into a third one. It wasn't exactly a comfortable place for taking a stroll. It was cold, much colder than outside. Now I understood why he was always wearing a cloak. I had assumed it was supposed to add to his menacing appearance, but in truth it probably just kept him warm. I wished I had a cloak, too.

Yet at least I was in no danger of landing on the ground anymore. Erik held my hand in his firmly.

"For your own security," he had said, and still I thought he also liked it, at least a little. If he felt but a tenth of the sensations that had settled in my stomach, I was more than content. I had always enjoyed holding hands, even since I had been a child. It gave me a sense of belonging together with someone else.

He only let go of me when we reached the underground lake. My momentary feeling of loss was replaced by awe. The lake was even bigger than I remembered.

"And this time you don't even have to swim in it," he remarked, giving me an ironic smile. Were my thoughts really that obvious, or was he just good at guessing them? I was inclined to assume the latter.

"That's very comforting," I gave back, shivering at the memory of how cold the water had been.

"Instead, we'll take my gondola," he said, gesturing at a boat tied to a pole at the shore. It had just the right size for two people. Maybe we'd have to sit a little closely together, but that prospect only made it more appealing. "You can sit here," he instructed me, poiting at the front part of the boat. I complied, finding the wooden bench not to be very comfortable. I could only hope he was a fast rower, or the consequences for my back would be serious.

He entered the gondola as well a moment later, after he had untied it, stood behind me and pushed it away from the shore with the pole he apparently used for rowing.

"I have to get a second boat," he told me.

"Why?" I wanted to know. "This one is not broken, is it?" Involuntarily I glanced down to check whether there were already puddles of water at my feet. Yet it was too dark at the bottom of the boat. At least my feet weren't wet yet, which surely was a good sign.

Erik chuckled.

"No, it isn't," he assured me. "But when I'm home, it is at the other side of the lake, so you can't use it. You can walk around the lake, of course; it's just not comfortable and also takes a long time. No, I'll get you a second gondola. Do you know how to row?"

"My brother and I had a boat when we were spending the holidays at the sea as children," I replied. "I had to do most of the rowing, or he wouldn't have taken me with him at all."

"That doesn't surprise me," he muttered. "But the important thing is that you have experience in rowing. I don't want to fish you out of the lake because your boat has capsized. It's rather cold anyway – too cold for my sensitive little Vicomte." I ignored the ironic undertone in his voice, for I was too busy enjoying the fact that he had called me ´my Vicomte´.

We didn't talk much for the rest of the journey. The boat glided through the water smoothly as it made its way towards the other shore. I tried looking around, but it was too dark to see much. So I concentrated on what was going on inside the gondola. I leaned backwards till my back met Erik's legs. They were long, hard and about a comfortable as the bench I was sitting on, but I liked feeling him.

"Do you mind?" I asked in a low voice.

"Not at all," he gave back. His voice sounded as if he were smiling.

After a few minutes we had reached our destination. Erik jumped out of the boat and tied it to a pole, just like it had been done at the other side of the lake. I couldn't help imagining a second one next to it. It was as if he were building a bridge for me, a bridge towards him. Leaving the gondola I felt the key in my pocket. It was another stone of the bridge.

"So… this is the shortest way to my home," he said as he led me to his house. "Do you think you can find it alone?"

I made an indefinable sound in my throat, hoping it was the right answer. As much as I liked the fact that I was able to visit him now, the thought of walking through the underground passageways all alone made me uncomfortable. What if I lost my way and he didn't search for me because he didn't know I was coming?

"I take it as a ´no´," he told me, throwing me a sideways glance. "Well, then we'll just have to walk the way together a few more times."

There were moments in which I didn't know whether he was being annoyed or sympathetic. This was one of them. However, I didn't have time to think about it, for we arrived at the house.

Erik opened the door; he had been right about it not being locked.

"Come in, come in," he said with an inviting gesture, and I did what he told me to.

The corridor I entered was just as dark and unfriendly as I remembered it from my last visit. Involuntarily I shivered. How could anyone live like this? Yet once he had lit a lamp, it looked better. I could see everything now, the wooden floor, the walls and the doors leading to the different rooms. There even was a coatrack next to the entrance door.

It were those little details that made me feel less cold at once. They reminded me that this no longer was the house of a madman to me. It was the house of a man who meant a lot to me, though I still had difficulties in telling him that. I watched him as he shrugged off his cloak and put it on one of the hooks. To my horror it was followed by the Punjab Lasso a moment later.

"Do you always carry that around with you?" I wanted to know warily.

He nodded.

"It's for my protection," he replied. He didn't seem to be annoyed by my question. "People aren't searching for me anymore, but one can never be too cautious about such things. Going up there once without it could be my death. They haven't forgotten me yet, and hatred is an emotion that lasts for a very long time."

He looked at me sadly, and I understood: It was true that he cared little about other people's opinions of him, yet that didn't mean he didn't care whether they wanted him dead.

"I no longer hate you," I reminded him softly. "Maybe they'd learn to like you as well…"

"I don't think so," he said simply. "And it's not necessary either. I'm not someone who needs being liked by everybody. But they need me. They need me to hate me. Have you ever regarded the matter like that?"

I shook my head. Of course I hadn't. It was a thought too peculiar to have ever crossed my mind.

"It makes things easier for them," he went on after a moment, when he had realised I wouldn't say anything. "Hatred, like love, is a basic feeling. Yet, unlike love, we are forbidden to have that feeling. Our parents tell us hating is wrong. Yet they forget that we need it. In order to love, we have to hate as well. One cannot exist without the other. It would be like having a pair of scales with just one scale. We need the other one, so that we can see the difference. So we need to hate someone, and I happen to be just right for that position. We've learned that hating another person is wrong, so who would be better than someone who isn't really a person?"

I gazed at him in utter fascination. Never before had someone explained such a complex matter to me without patronizing me. My father had had a particularly annoying way of treating me like a little child, yet although my siblings had tried not to be that bad, they had occasionally fallen into the same traps. Suddenly I believed that Erik had been a good teacher. If he spoke of music the way he had just spoken to me, he had to be fantastic.

Erik seemed to take my silence the wrong way, for he added:

"You see that I have had a lot of time to think about all this. Was it very boring for you?".

"Not at all," I assured him. "I enjoyed listening to you. But I do hope you don't expect me to talk like that as well. I'm afraid you won't be able to have conversations about such complicated topics with me." I gave him an apologetic smile, assuming it was best to tell him right away.

"Nonsense," he growled. "You talk about yourself as if you were the most stupic person in the world. But you're not." He cupped my face gently, and I held my breath, waiting for him to kiss me. Yet the kiss never came. He was merely gazing at me. I felt his amazing eyes search every inch of my face, and it made me blush. No one had ever looked at me that intently. "I can see it," he declared atfre a few moments. "It's all in your eyes. You're an intelligent and loving boy… man, I mean. If you weren't, I wouldn't even bother talking to you at all." He kissed my lips briefly, then took his hands away from my face.

At last I dared breathe again. The last moments had been so intense that I had forgotten everything else. Yet now I couldn't help feeling very flattered. Erik thought me intelligent and loving? That was something I didn't hear every day. I revelled in his praise. He was a person who meant what he said, which only made his words more precious. I swore myself to always remember them.

I was so absorbed in that activity that it took me several moments to realise Erik had slipped out of his jacket and was trying to help me out of mine, seemingly unaware that he had said something special. Quickly I took it off and handed it to him. When it was hanging on the coat rack, next to his cloak, he led me down the corridor and into a room. To my surprise I found myself in a kitchen.

"I thought a cup of tea would be good for both of us," he explained, pouring water into a kettle and placing it on the stove. "I know how cold those passageways can be if one isn't used to them. Christine… well, she was always cold in my home. But that could have had other reasons as well…" He gave a deep sigh.

I didn't know what to say. He looked so sad that my heart contracted painfully. Or was the memory of Christine causing it? Whatever it was, I didn't want him to be in that mood. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around him in an awkward embrace.

"I'm sure she liked it here," I whispered into his ear. "And so do I." I brought my lips to the side of his neck, kissing him softly.

Within the blink of an eye he had turned around in my arms and was facing me.

"Stay here with me tonight, Raoul!" he breathed. "Please…"

I didn't hesitate for as long as a second. I had managed to make up an excuse why hadn't come home once, so I'd be able to do it again.

"I'd love to," I replied, making him smile. "But you told me yourself that you don't have a bed. Where am I… where are we supposed to sleep?"


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

I saw the joy leave Erik's face and could have slapped myself for being that insensitive. Why couldn't I have asked that question sometime later? To him it had to sound as if I were reluctant to stay with him and used every stupid argument I could find to take back my word. But it was not like that, not at all. I had merely thought about the last time I had been here. We had been lying on the floor then. Maybe we could do that again. It was worth a try.

"I wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor," I told him hastily, before he had the chance to say anything. "It won't be very comfortable, but it'll be all right for me, really…"

He merely shook his head.

"No, no, I won't let you lie on the floor like a dog," he said firmly. "But it is a good question…" The expression on his face grew pensive. "Perhaps suggesting that you stay here was a little too rash…"

"But I do want to stay here," I stated, just to make that perfectly clear. I reached up and traced the lines on the left side of his mouth with my index finger. Then I let it wander upwards to his forehead. I wanted to make the lines worry had left there disappear, at least for the moment. "Let me sleep on the floor," I whispered. "Or I could use the divan."

"I want you to sleep in my arms," he gave back. "I want to feel you next to me all night, while I lie awake and think about my miserable, pointless life."

"But there is no way – " I argued, only to be interrupted by him.

"There is a way. I'm just afraid you won't like it. Christine's room is still the same it used to be. The bed would be big enough for the two of us." He threw me a questioning glance.

I gulped as two opinions started fighting in my head. On the one hand the prospect of falling asleep in Erik's arms sounded very promising. I had enjoyed it very much the last time it had happened and was quite eager to repeat it. I was also looking forward to him still being with me in the morning. Since we were in his house, he'd surely not leave the bed too early.

Still… it would be Christine's bed we'd sleep in, maybe even… do things in. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

My doubts seemed to be visible on my face, for he said:

"We've talked about this, Raoul. Christine would have approved of us being together.".

"Did she ever sleep in that bed?" I asked in a small voice.

He nodded.

"Just once, though," he replied. "And I changed the sheets. In fact, I changed the sheets only this morning, when I returned from Perros."

"This morning?" I repeated blankly. I needed a moment to take in what I had just heard. "Does this mean you knew I'd come here today and stay for the night?"

"It means I hoped you'd come and stay for the night," he corrected me. "I couldn't know it, of course, and I also didn't know it would happen today. But I wanted to be prepared." His thoughtful behaviour made me feel warm inside. So he had been hoping I'd come. It was good that I had done so.

"Let's do it then," I decided. "I don't want all the preparation to have been in vain."

He smiled.

"Does this mean you want to go to bed right now?" he asked teasingly.

"Well, that depends on what you're planning to do there," I replied, trying to adopt the same teasing voice. Yet my efforts were undermined when one of his hands sneaked downwards and gave my private parts a loving squeeze. I yelped in surprise.

"Does this answer your question?" he wanted to know innocently. I could only nod.

He was about to kiss me when another part of my body reacted in a very non-arousing way: My stomach grumbled, complaining about not having got any food since lunch. Erik and I broke apart. He raised an eyebrow.

"It seems that you have other needs we've got to satisfy before we can do anything else," he remarked.

I blushed deeply.

"I'm… sorry," I mumbled. "It's just… just…"

"It's all right," he assured me. "I wanted to make tea anyway, and we can have something to eat with it. And the rest… we'll see about that later."

"You eat?" I blurted out, before I could think about whether that was a very polite question. A part of me still saw the Opera Ghost in him, an almost mystical creature. Ghosts didn't eat.

"Yes, I eat," he replied with an exaggerated sigh. "I eat. I drink. I sleep. I use the bathroom. I'm an ordinary man, Raoul, at least in some respects. I thought you had understood that by now."

If possible, my face grew ever redder as I heard the disappointment in his voice.

"I know that you're a man," I told him, suppressing the urge to add that I knew it better than anyone else. This was not the right moment for such a comment. "But I've regarded you as a ghost for such a long time. It's not easy to change that all of a sudden."

"Can I help you with it?" he asked, sounding rather serious for a change.

"Tell me about yourself," I answered instantly. "I know nothing about you, only the little Mme.Giry told me."

"And what did she tell you?" he wanted to know sharply.

I knew that mentioning it had been a mistake as I looked into his face, which was rapidly growing as hard as marble. I had to do something about it quickly. Maybe talking would help.

"She told me you arrived in Paris as part of a circus. One day you escaped, and some time later the Opera Ghost made his first appearance. She also told me that…" My voice faltered. "…that they kept you in a cage," I finished in a whisper, like a child telling someone an incredible story.

"So you already know all there is to know about me," he stated matter-of-factly. "And that is more than enough for you. The story of your life is none of your business… Vicomte."

The old way of addressing me was like a slap in the face. I had worked so hard on him trusting me, and one careless remark had ruined all my efforts. I could have kicked myself… or else him. I wondered which of the two possibilities would be more effective.

"Maybe you're right," I muttered. "Maybe it is none of my business. But I want to _make_ it my business. I want to get to know you better, Erik. Why is that such a problem for you?"

"Because most parts of my life were terrible!" he exclaimed. "They were worse than your most dreadful nightmares. I've seen things you couldn't even imagine. You wouldn't understand what – "

"Then make me understand them!" I called, simply interrupting him. I was seized by the overwhelming urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him hard, so I did exactly that. I shook and shook and shook him, shouting: "I've had enough of this! Every other minute I say something that hurts you because I don't know enough about your life! You grow angry or cold, but you're not telling me about your life either! Can't you see that doesn't fit together? Having a conversation with you is like walking over an old suspension bridge: Every step could be my last…".

At last Erik seized my wrists and made me stop shaking him.

"Why don't you try treading more carefully then?" he asked. His voice wasn't as shrill as mine, but every bit as angry. "But no, you prefer stomping around like a wild ox, not caring about my feelings at all!"

"That's nonsense!" I cried. "Of course I care about your feelings. But how can I be more careful if I don't know what will make you angry? I'm not a mind-reader."

I took a step backwards, feeling very exhausted from the shouting.

"There are two possibilities," I told him in a deliberately low voice. "One is that you open up to me. I'm not expecting to hear the story of your life in one day. Just a little bit would be enough. And the other one is that I leave. But don't think I'd come back. I can't go on like this."

He didn't say anything. He merely looked at me, and his face was as cold and hard as marble again. Vaguely I wondered why he didn't wear a full mask. In this moment it wouldn't have made any difference. I waited till I had taken five more deep breaths, which was the time limit I had given myself before I'd walk away. Nothing happened, so I freed myself from his grasp, turned around and left the kitchen. I walked very slowly, for there was still a tiny bit of hope inside me that he'd come after me. Yet it was growing fainter with every step I took.

Had I done the right thing? I didn't know it. For one moment it had felt like the right thing, but by now it more felt like having my heart ripped out of my chest, which just couldn't be right. Why did it hurt so much to lose someone I had barely had? Another question I didn't have an answer to. Maybe that someone had meant more to me than I had known myself.

And still… yes, I had done the right thing. Being with him like that had just been too hard. He had had his chance, and he hadn't seized it. Yes, I had done the right thing. Yet that didn't explain why there were tears trickling down my face as I walked out of the house and started the long way around the lake. There would be no boat for me… just like there would be no bed.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

The way around the lake was long and tedious. I could hardly see anything, for I hadn't taken a lantern with me. The lake lay next to me like a vast grey meadow. On my other side there was a rough stone wall. I had to feel my way along it, or I would have had difficulties in staying on the path. It was an exhausting and slow method of walking. Besides, I was cold. I had left my jacket in Erik's house, yet going back to fetch it would have been impossible.

Erik… Maybe I'd grow warmer if I concentrated on my anger. Couldn't he have at least made an attempt to hold me back? It wouldn't have taken much to do so, for I had been reluctant to leave anyway. A few friendly words, a little sign that he wanted to help me understand him better would have been enough. But no, he had done nothing.

The basic problem was that he just didn't take me seriously. He was probably sitting in his home at the moment, making a cup of tea and waiting for me to come back. But I wouldn't do that. If I gave in now, nothing would change. We'd get alone well for a few minutes, then one of my remarks would infuriate him again, and we'd have another pointless argument. ´But at least the two of you would be together,´ a little voice in my head whispered. I tried my best to ignore it, to shake it off by walking more quickly.

It had only been a few days. Surely I'd be able to erase them from my mind quickly. What had been so special about them, anyway? Everything. Erik had given me a completely new view of the world and also of myself. I felt like one of the great explorers, who suddenly realised there were world beyong his own, worlds he hadn't even imagined. Yet I had no one to discover them with, not that Erik was no longer at my side.

Maybe I could find someone else. But where? Meeting women was simple. All I'd have to do was go to the theatre or a similar event. There were many girls who were eager to become the new lady friend of the young Vicomte de Chagny. I'd have known that even if my brother hadn't reminded me of it twice a day. I heard much more gossip than other people assumed.

But all that was not the point. I didn't want another woman… or another man, for that matter. I didn't want anyone else. I wanted Erik. And that was the one person I couldn't have. With hasty motions I wiped the tears off my face. Crying would get me nowhere. Besides, Erik wouldn't have liked it if I cried… No, actually that was not true. Erik would have made a sarcastic remark, but he'd have let me cry on his shoulder all the same.

I felt lonely, lonely and miserable. Every person who had ever meant something to me had vanished from my life: My mother had died giving birth to me, I hardly saw my sisters anymore since they had got married, Christine was dead, and Erik was gone as well. Was this something like my fate? Ending up alone, with nothing but a few memories and a lot of thoughts about what could have been? What kind of a pathetic life would that be?

The weight of the thought was so much that I couldn't go on walking. I sank down onto the ground, leaning against the stone wall. I was trembling from head to toe, wrapping my arms around my knees and pulling them towards my chest. Was it my imagination, or had the temperature dropped even more in the last minutes? Placing my head on my knees I closed my eyes. I just had to rest for a little while, then I'd be fine. I'd… be…

I must have fallen asleep, for I suddenly heard a voice.

"Raoul? Raoul?" it was calling. It sounded like Erik. No, it was Erik. No one else had such a divine voice. It sent little shivers down my spine.

I smiled to myself. I liked dreaming of Erik. Surely I'd seen him soon, too, and he'd say that he didn't want me to go, that he'd tell me all I wanted to hear, just to make me stay. What a nice dream…

The next thing that happened was someone shaking my shoulder. That irritated me slightly. The Erik of my dreams wouldn't do such a thing. He'd be nice and gentle and wouldn't shake me like a sack of potatoes. He'd also –

"Open your eyes, Raoul. Now!"

This dream was getting annoying. One of these days I'd have to talk to my imagination about its interpretation of Erik. Was it asked too much to improve him a little, just enough to –

"Raoul!"

Slowly I opened my eyes. There were two legs in front of me, dressed in black trousers. As I lifted my head, I saw a white shirt covering a broad chest and a face under a fedora. I blinked several times, but the person did not vanish. It was not a dream. Erik was really here.

"What are you doing here?" I wanted to know. The words didn't leave my mouth as quickly as usual. With every moment that passed I grew more aware of how cold I was. My teeth were chattering.

"Keeping you from freezing to death," he replied shortly. "What were you thinking, just sitting down on the ground here and falling asleep? It's much too cold for you. Besides, I'd have nearly walked past you without noticing you."

"You were looking for me," I muttered, as realisation dawned on me. "You were worried about me…"

"Of course I was worried, silly boy," he said. It sounded strangely affectionate. "Storming away, without your coat…"

"You don't have a coat either," I remarked.

"I must have forgotten it," he murmured. "But I'm used to the temperatures down here. You aren't."

"And it's very likely that I'll never have the chance to get used to them," I pointed out. "I was just about to leave." I bit my lip. Why couldn't I simply enjoy the moment instead of ruining everything right away? Erik was here. Wasn't that enough for me? Not anymore, I realised sadly.

"I know," he stated softly. "But can't we talk about it?"

He offered me a hand, but I didn't take it.

"You could have talked to me," I reminded him, a little more sharply than I had intended. In that moment I felt like tormenting him. He made me feel miserable, so he could suffer with me. "You didn't say a word. You just let me leave."

He sighed.

"I was too surprised to react," he confessed. "I'd have never thought you meant what you said. And by the time I had thought about everything you had been gone. But before we continue this conversation, you should stand up, or you'll freeze some parts of your body that are very hard to replace."

As much as I wanted to disagree just for the sake of disagreeing, I knew he had a point. My backside was already feeling rather numb. So I came to my feet, using the wall for support. At least I had refused his hand. I bit back a groan of pain as cramps shot through my legs. It felt as if they were being attacked by hundreds of angry bees. But of course it would have been much too cold for bees in the cellars. I was still trembling.

"Your lips are all blue," Erik remarked, lifting the lantern he had brought with him to the level of our faces. "You've got to come back with me. I'll make you something warm to drink."

The thought of a hot drink pouring down my throat was very tempting. Still I shook my head.

"That's impossible, Erik," I said. "I told you I'd only stay if you revealed at least a little about your life, and I won't change my mind just because I'm cold." I forced my face into a stubborn expression, which had always shown good results with my sisters.

Yet it didn't seem to make much of an impression with Erik, probably because he was too stubborn himself.

"I'm much stronger than you," he stated. "If it's necessary, I'll lift you off your feet and carry you back to my home."

"And then you'll lock me in and force me to drink hot tea?" I asked with a hoarse little laugh. "Do you really think that'll make me more willing to stay with you? Such things didn't work with Christine either. I thought you had learned your lesson…"

Silence followed my statement, while we stared at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking of; I myself was mainly busy trying to keep my teeth from chattering too loudly. By the time he opened his mouth to speak, the cramps in my legs had almost vanished, which at least made me feel slightly better.

"My mother's name was Madeleine," he whispered.

"Pardon?" I asked. I had expected an explanation or possibly an apology, but not… that.

"You wanted to know something about my life, and here it is: My mother's name was Madeleine, and she hated me," he said calmly.

Despite the sad character of that piece of information, a smile lit up my cold face. He had done it. He had spoken about himself. I was still smiling as I seized his wonderfully warm hand and led him back to the house.

"Will you tell me more about her?" I asked.

He nodded.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

When we reached Erik's house for the second time that day, he led me to the sitting room.

"I'll make tea now," he announced. "And this time I intend to actually finish doing it. That's why you stay here, where you can't distract me. I'll be back in a few minutes." With these words he closed the door behind himself.

Maybe I should have felt offended because he didn't want me in the kitchen, but I didn't. After all, he was right: If I started asking him about his past, we'd never have tea, and I was rather thirsty. Besides, I liked his sitting room. It was comfortable and – most importantly – warm. A fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace. I walked over to it and sat down on the carpet right in front of the fireplace.

As I stretched out my arms in the direction of the flames, my fingers began to tingle pleasantly as I regained the feeling in them. Unceremoniously I kicked off my shoes and placed my feet at the edge of the fireplace, so that my toes would grow warm as well. And slowly they did. At once I felt revived. Even the hunger was returning to my stomach. I could only hope Erik hadn't forgotten his promise to make something to eat as well.

"I do have other places to sit, you know," a voice behind me remarked. "And as a matter of fact, I don't think you belong on the floor… at least not now. But it's nice to see that you're feeling comfortable enough to take your shoes off. If you want to remove any other pieces of clothing, feel free to do so."

The warmth seemed to have reached my cheeks by now, for they flushed.

"No, I'm fine," I mumbled, turning around. "I was just a little cold…"

"It's all right," he assured me. "You can sir anywhere you want in this house. Recently, I've developed a liking for that carpet myself…" He gave a soft chuckle, placing a tray next to me on the floor and settling down beside it. I tried hard not to think about what we had done on this very carpet only a few days ago. I didn't want to trigger a rather inappropriate physical reaction.

To distract myself, I looked at the tray curiously and couldn't help licking my lips in anticipation. Apart from a teapot and two mugs made of expensive white china, a sugar bowl and a small jug containing milk, there were slices of bread with cold meat and cheese and two pieces of a delicious-looking chocolate cake. By now, my stomach was rumbling so loudly that even the people in the upper floors of the opera could probably hear it.

"May I?" I asked, gesturing at the food.

He nodded generously.

"Take whatever you want," he replied. "You'll still need your strength."

I chose to ignore the undertone in his voice as well as the small smile on his lips. At the moment I was too hungry to think about what it could mean. I grabbed a slice of bread from the silver plate, and by the time Erik had filled our cups with tea, I was already reaching for another one.

It occurred to me that my sisters would have fainted if they had seen their little brother like this: sitting on the floor, wolfing down large chunks of bread without even using a plate. They'd have assumed that all the time they had spent teaching me good manners had been wasted. But then, they didn't know how nice it was to sit here in comfortable silence, only a tray between Erik and me. Sometimes our fingers touched, and we smiled.

I couldn't remember having ever had a better meal. Sure, the food was nothing special compared to what our cook created every day. Yet I preferred the company I had here. Erik was a hundred times better than my brother, who seized every chance to brag about the girls he had met and the things he had done with them, not sparing me any of the details. At least I could eat in peace here.

I lifted the cup to my lips and took a long gulp. Vaguely I recalled that Erik had poured a little bit of an amber liquid into the cup when he had filled it a second time. The tea ran down my throat and into my stomach, causing a faint burning sensation. It was just what I had needed. I slowly forgot that I had ever been cold.

"Enough," he finally said, pushing the tray aside.

"But we haven't had dessert yet," I protested, looking at the cake longingly.

"We can have that later," he decided. "At the moment, I'd rather have a different kind of dessert…" He eyed me in the same way I had eyed the cake seconds before, and I grew even warmer. It might have been the candle light, but his lips looked even more delicious than the cake.

He closed the space between us within the blink of an eye, cupped my cheeks, and in the next moment his lips were on mine. They tasted more delicious than anything else, like tea and spices and alcohol. It was a mixture that made me dizzy. Boldly I pushed my tongue into his mouth, and he responded at once.

The room started spinning slightly, so I simply closed my eyes, clinging to Erik. My hands were holding his shoulders in a firm grip, yet he didn't seem to mind. His hands were more curious than mine, wandering over every inch of my body they could reach. I moaned into his mouth as his clever fingers found my manhood and began to knead it gently through my trousers.

His lips left mine, but I felt them brush my ear when he whispered:

"Do you want me to bring you to bed?".

"Yes," I replied breathlessly, opening my eyes. Cautiously I let go of his shoulders and tried to come to my feet, yet he would have none of it.

"I said I'd bring you to bed," he told me in a low voice. "I never mentioned that you'd have to walk there." Without waiting for a reaction he picked me up in his arms, as if I were completely weightless, and carried me out of the room.

The way to the bedroom was much too long for my taste. I began to place small kisses on his throat, just above the collar of his shirt. I could feel his skin break out in gooseflesh and was rather proud of myself. Yet when my tongue darted out and licked a trail to his Adam's apple, he gave a growl.

"If I were you, I'd stop that," he advised me. "Otherwise it is possible that I'll let you fall to the floor and have my way with you, right here."

The idea made my heart speed up further. Still I remained motionless for the rest of the way. This time, I wanted things to happen in bed.

The door to the bedroom stood slightly ajar, so that he could open it with a little kick of his foot. It was dark inside, but Erik, who didn't seem to need any light, found his way to the bed without knocking over something or tripping over the carpet. He lowered me onto the soft woollen bedspread. His eyes were shining in the dark like two round pieces of amber. A moment later, he had climbed into bed as well and was gazing down at me.

"Such a beautiful boy," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "It's a pity that you're wearing so many clothes…"

"We can change that," I whispered, straightening up.

A hectic fumble ensued as we tried to free each other from our clothes as quickly as possible. Once or twice I heard an ominous ripping sound, but I didn't care. Every inch of bare skin was greeted enthusiastically with kisses and caresses. The fact that it was dark made it much easier for me to get undressed. Of course the admiring sounds Erik made were helping as well.

I was just pulling off a sock, my last remaining piece of clothing, when I was suddenly pressed into the mattress. Erik had pounced at me like a wild lion. He even growled like such an animal.

"I can't wait any longer," he whispered, kneeling over me. "Do you have any idea how long I've dreamed of having you under me like this?"

"Ever since this morning?" I replied, for that was the last time we had seen each other.

Yet he shook his head.

"It was much longer," he answered his own question. "I just didn't know it." Then he leaned down to kiss me.

I was feeling more than warm. Even though there was no crackling fire in this room, it seemed to be much warmer than in the sitting room. It surely had to do with Erik, who was grinding his private parts against mine. My manhood was hard and throbbing with the desire to be touched. I moaned into his mouth when he continued moving against me.

I couldn't stand it anymore. He was too far away from me. I pulled him on top of me and rolled over, so that we were lying side by side. Almost at the same moment we seized each other's member and started moving our hands over it quickly, desperate to bring each other pleasure. I wanted nothing more than hear him moan and call out my name. His manhood felt so good in my hand, and his body felt so good pressed against mine. I hooked one leg over his hip to get even closer to him.

I was so focused on finding just the right way of touching him that I paid no attention to what he was doing with the rest of his body. Yet suddenly I became very aware of the position of his other hand. It had moved over my hip and down to my backside, and before I could understand what was going on, he had pushed his finger into my body. I grew as stiff as a board.

"Erik?" I whispered anxiously. "What are you doing there?"


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

The probing finger was pulled back as quickly as it had entered my body. Still the strange, uncomfortable feeling remained for a few more moments, before it vanished as well. Now Erik's hand was only resting lightly on my hip.

"It appears that I got carried away," he muttered. "I didn't mean to startle you. Can we go on now?"

But it was too late. Whether nor not he had meant to startle me, he had done so. I found it rather ironic that while almost my whole body had gone rigid with shock, my manhood had developed into just the oposite direction. It lay in his hand limply, and when he started moving again, I pushed his fingers away.

"No," I hissed. "I don't want to go on." It was hard to read any kind of emotion from his face in the darkness, yet it was clear that he took me seriously, for his erection subsided as well, though not as quickly as mine.

Pulling back my hand I turned to lie on my other side, facing away from him. I was a little afraid of what I could see in those amazing eyes. Surely he was angry because I had stopped without letting him find his release. But then, who was he to be angry at me? I was the one who had every right to be angry. After all, he had simply started touching me in that strange way without as much as asking me first. And then he had just tried to go on, as if nothing had happened.

Being angry at Erik had been difficult while running away from him, but now that he was lying right behind me, it was much worse. No matter how hard I tried to remain angry, I couldn't help facing the fact that I didn't want it to be that way. Though I didn't necessarily feel like continuing what we had done before, I did want to lie in his arms.

Cold shivers ran down my spine. The warmth I had felt before had merely been an illusion, created by our heated bodies. It had been replaced by an icy cold. The fact that I wasn't wearing anything didn't exactly improve matters either. Only the thought of what Erik would say kept me from fetching my clothes. He'd probably assume I wanted to leave, which was far from true.

I had just arrived at that conclusion when I felt a strange pulling sensation under me and realised that Erik was tugging at the bedspread.

"If you want me to leave, you can say so," I muttered. It had been supposed to sound cold, yet the only cold thing had been the chattering of my teeth.

"Yes, I want you to leave," he stated, making me inhale sharply. "But only for a moment. Get up, and I'll pull back the bedspread. You're getting colder by the second, and I refuse to share the bed with a block of ice."

There were many things I could have said, but my gladness about finally getting under a blanket had made any trace of sarcasm vanish from my mind. So I simply stood up and seized the time till he told me to come in again to light a lamp on the bedside table. Not being able to see the expression on his face was slightly unnerving, and I knew that we wouldn't sleep anytime soon.

I hastened to crawl under the blanket and found myself in Erik's arms. I couldn't have possibly turned away from him now. Yet of course this only left me with one solution.

"Can we talk about what happened?" I asked cautiously.

He let out a low sigh.

"You always have to talk, don't you?" he remarked grumpily. "And here I was, wondering how you could have survived being brought up by women only. The answer is simple: You became just like them." If he thought that this attempt to provoke me would distract me, he was wrong. I knew his methods by now.

"I only want to understand what was going on," I told him. "Why were you touching… that part of me?"

"I had to start preparing you sometime, and I thought I could as well do it then, while you were distracted. It's supposed to be easier and less painful when the person is relaxed," he explained, yet for all I understood, he could as well have spoken a foreign language. What had he tried to prepare me for? What would be easier? And no matter what he meant by ´less painful´, it obviously hadn't worked. Or had he just not done it correctly? My head was so full of questions that I blurted out the one that would cover all of them.

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you trying to make fun of me?" he gave back, frowning. His eyes widened in shock as I shook my head, and realisation seemed to dawn on him. "You didn't… you don't… you have no idea… or do you?" he murmured. A moment later he had pulled himself together enough to utter a coherent sentence: "Just answer me one question, Raoul: Do you know how men sleep with each other?".

His question came as such a big surprise that I didn't even consider making up a reply.

"No," I said truthfully. "I didn't know they could sleep with each other at all… not the way a man and a woman do, I mean. I thought the things we were doing together, with our hands and our mouths, were enough…" My voice trailed off as I watched him, feeling very, very foolish. Why hadn't that stupid book said anything about the topic? Erik was probably just trying to decide whether to yell or laugh at me. I didn't know which one would be worse.

Yet he did neither.

"My sweet, innocent boy," he whispered softly, letting his index finger wander over my face. "You really are just as innocent as you look. How could I have forgotten that?" If he had said such things in his usual cynical voice, they'd have come out as insults. But at the moment his voice was gentle, as much of a caress as his finger. No, he didn't want to insult me. "_A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted, Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion… A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls amazeths,_" he went on.

I threw him a questioning glance.

"William Shakespeare," he explained. "From one of his finest sonnets. It addresses a young man, such as you, whose beauty is so great that he's adored by men and women alike… just like you are."

My cheeks grew rosy, and I suddenly found it very hard to look into his eyes. After I had been so cold to him minutes before, I had certainly not expected compliments now.

"Thank you," I muttered, as his finger followed the line of my nose.

When it reached my lips, I parted them and sucked it into my mouth for a moment, winking at him. I wasn't angry anymore. He shivered visibly as I let go of him again, and I enjoyed the power I had over him.

"Now tell me now two men make love," I whispered. "Or do you think knowing it could take away my innocence?"

"Nothing could take away your innocence," he replied, his finger leaving a slightly wet trail on my cheek. "Although I'll most certainly try…"

Remembeing his finger inside me I felt a little uneasy. Involuntarily I held my breath when he began to explain.

"Actually it's very similar to what a man and a woman do," he told me. His voice sounded kind. Apparently he didn't think my ignorance amusing and was really willing to help me. "Do you remember that place I touched before? My finger was the preparation for a much bigger item that will be put there one day… I hope."

I stared at him incredulously. He couldn't be serious about it.

"But… but it's… too big," I stammered. "It won't fit… into me…" I thought of his manhood in my hand. It had fitted nicely, but it had been too big for my mouth. How on earth did he expect it to fit into that other orifice?

"It will fit once I've prepared you correctly," he assured me. "I've read about it. One has to start slowly, with one finger, then two. Your body will get used to it. I've also read about a certain lubricant one can use to make things less painful, but I haven't bought it yet. I shouldn't have begun just like that, but it was so tempting." By now, he almost sounded embarrassed, which was a completely new experience for me. I hadn't even known he could become embarrassed. Somehow, it made me more willing to forgive him that he had hurt me.

"The next time you should better ask before you do such a thing," I advised him. "I could have died from shock."

"Yes, next time I'll try to keep in mind what a delicate creature you are," he promised with a smile that was close to a smirk. "But now that you know how it is done… could you imagine letting me do it one day?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "It does sound quite painful for me…"

"But once you're used to it, it'll also be pleasant for you," he hastened to say. "There's a spot inside the male body that's very sensitive to the touch, you know. Besides, I'd also take care of your… other needs." He looked down at my body pointedly. "So you'd have twice as much pleasure as usual," he finished.

Apparently this was a night in which I learned a lot of new things about Erik. I had had no idea he could be this persuasive.

"Well, all right," I agreed. "We will make love. But I have two conditions: The first one is that we won't do it right now. I still need a little time to get used to the thought. Besides, I'd like to wait for the lubricant."

He nodded.

"I'm in no hurry," he claimed. "But it is a little difficult for me. You see, usually I'm the one with the conditions…"

"Today you're the one who wants to put his… thing into me," I argued. "So I can at least be the one with the conditions, can't I? The second one is that you'll tell me about your family now, by the way," I added.

He gave a groan.

"Wouldn't you rather like me to tell you a nice bedtime story?" he asked. "I know some that are for adults only."

"Maybe later," I decided. "But now I want to hear about your family."

"Really?" he wanted to know.

"Yes," I replied simply, noticing that being the one with the conditions was rather amusing.

**Author's note: **The lines Erik quotes are from Shakespeare's Sonnet 20.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

For several minutes, there was silence. Erik seemed to think about how to start his story, and I didn't want to disturb him. Besides, I enjoyed simply lying there, feeling his body next to mine. It was a feeling that was slowly growing familiar, but that didn't mean it was boring. On the contrary: Every time his hand touched mine, a shiver ran down my spine.

"My father was a lucky man," he finally began in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Why? Did he have a loving wife, a big family and a lot of money?" I asked, enumerating a few things that were commonly regarded as signs of luck.

He shook his head.

"When I say he was lucky," he replied, his voice growing bitter. "I mean that he was spared the sight of me. He died before I was born."

I sensed that the usual phrases of ´I'm sorry´ would have been inappropriate, so I didn't say anything.

After a moment, he went on:

"My mother despised me right from the beginning. Among other reasons, she never forgave me for not looking like her late husband. It must have been nice for her when she was with child, sitting there and imagining that if she gave birth to a boy, he'd grow up to be exactly like the man she had lost. Well, that wish didn't come true. I looked nothing like him… or like her, for that matter. I don't think I look like anything anyone had ever seen. I grew up in a village, you know, and rumours about my appearance spread fast. Everyone was keen on getting a good look at me. I suppose they enjoyed looking down at me, with the safe knowledge that no matter what flaws their own children had, at least they weren't that ugly.".

He gave me another moment to take in what he had said, then he continued his tale.

"Do you know why I had to wear a mask? No, it was not to protect me from the neighbours' prying gaze. My mother simply couldn't stand the sight of me."

"Do you mean that you had to wear a mask all the time, not only when you went outside or when guests came to your house?" I asked incredulously.

"Guests?" he spat. "I wasn't allowed to be around when my mother had guests – not that it happened too often. I was always locked in my room at such occasions. And to answer your question: Yes, I had to wear it all the time. I don't think my mother would have cared whether wore anything else, but she insisted on the mask. Not once did she look at me without revulsion. There were other people who were nice to me because they pitied me, one of her friends and the local priest, but that helped neither her nor me. My mother was trapped in our house, with me, the bane of her life. The more she longed to break free, the more I held her back. It almost drove her insane. When I realised what I was doing to her… I left."

It took me a few moments to notice that the story was over. There were many questions on my mind, and I settled for the most innocous one.

"Why can you still remember all that so well?"

"Years after I had left the village, I came back one last time," he replied. "I met Marie, my mother's friend, and she helped me fill the gaps and see connections I couldn't have understood as a child."

"What about your mother?" I asked. "Did she no longer live there?"

"She had died a few days previously," he answered in a flat voice. "You see, in the end she was lucky as well."

Now I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I simply had to say it.

"I'm sorry. I understa-"

"Don't!" he hissed, his eyes flashing angrily. "Don't you dare pity me! I don't need anyone's pity, least of all yours! And don't you dare say that you understand me! No one understands me, no one."

"And you love it that way, don't you?" I heard myself ask. I didn't know where I took the courage to do so. Yet now that I had started, I had to go on, as long as Erik was still too stunned to speak. "You love playing the role of the man with the horrible past whom nobody understands. That's why you don't even want to let me try."

"You?" he asked. "You'd be the last to understand me. Your childhood couldn't have been more different from mine. Surely you were brought up by a loving family who pampered and spoilt you, who fulfilled every wish you had, who always supported you. How could a little prince like you ever know what it means to have a mother who hated her own son?"

"You seem to know more about my family than I do," I remarked coldly. "But in that case you couldn't be more wrong. It's true that my mother loved me, but I never experienced that love. She died giving birth to me."

"Oh," he made. That was his only comment.

"And when it comes to parents… my father hated me," I continued. "He hated me because my birth had killed his wife, and he hated me because I wasn't the boy he wanted me to be. I was too short, I was too beautiful – too effeminate. He never accepted me. If it hadn't been for my sisters, I'd have had no idea what love feels like…"

At this point I couldn't go on. It was as if a heavy weight was pressing onto my chest, suffocating me. But I refused to cry. Erik hadn't cried either.

"I… I know… your fate is… much worse than mine… but I do think… I can understand you…" I mumbled, gasping for breath. I'd have never believed that speaking a few words could be that difficult.

Wordlessly, he seized my hand and squeezed it lightly. That little display of affection was all it took. I burst into tears. I cried for the lonely boy I had once been, but also for the lonely boy in the mask whom I imagined crouching in a corner, shedding silent tears because his mother didn't love him. My heart felt as if it would break any moment. I needed something to hold on to, preferrably something soft and warm.

Erik wasn't exactly soft, but he was warm and he was there. I flung my arms around him and clung to him as if for dear life. Yet I didn't dare look at him. I knew he disliked both pity and self-pity, so it was just a matter of time till he'd push me away. He had comforted me in the past, but I couldn't expect him to do so all the time. I was a man, for Heaven's sake! I had to pull myself together.

Yet when I looked into his eyes to apologise for my childish behaviour, I saw that there were tears trickling down his face as well. At least they were trickling down the left side of his face; I couldn't tell it with the other half. Confronted with that sight, I abandoned the idea of pulling myself together. Erik was sad, and all that mattered now was comforting him. So I kissed away the tears on his cheek and chin, before my mouth found his almost instinctively.

He returned the kiss with a strange mixture of hunger and affection. It was passionate, but I could feel that he didn't want us to go any further, at least not now. All he craved was love, and I was more than willing to give him as much of it as I could. We continued kissing and crying till we were too exhausted to go on. Then we simply lay there, as close to each other as possible.

"I had no idea," Erik muttered. "I had been sure that a boy like you had been raised by the perfect family. This proves that even I can be wrong… though it doesn't happen too often." The sarcasm of his statement was lost on me. I was still thinking about the past.

"For years I tried to be the son my father wanted," I told him softly. "Of course this mostly meant trying to become like my brother. He was a ´real´ boy, as my father called it. He ran around with his friends, getting into fights and coming home bruised, whereas I stayed inside, reading or playing with my sisters. I even tried to fight with Philippe sometimes, but I always lost and ended up hurt. He didn't show any mercy, just because I was his brother."

"And once more, I wish he had drowned in Lake Averne," Erik remarked.

I hardly heard him.

"Years after my father had died, I still tried to behave they way he'd have liked it," I went on pensively. "And still Philippe is the better son. The way he struts around in our home, the way he treats women – my father would have loved it." I gave a bitter laugh.

"Who cares?" he commented simply. "Who cares about what your father would have loved? He's dead, Raoul. There's no point in trying to please a dead person. And even if he were alive… You're no longer a child. You have your own standards, your own way of living. Of course it's different from that of your brother, but that's not bad."

"But I feel so guilty sometimes!" I cried. "I wonder whether I should have tried harder to be a good son. Maybe he'd have loved me then…"

Erik looked at me for a long moment, then he shook his head.

"If there's one thing I've learned from my childhood, it's that if your parents don't love you – or rather, if they're determined not to show it – they won't do so, no matter how hard you try," he said in a low voice. "I was a good son. I was pious, I studied hard, even though I never went to school… but all that effort was in vain because I couldn't change my appearance into anything resembling a human face. When I realised that, I stopped being a good son."

I nuzzled his shoudler affectionately.

"I'm sure that, deep down, your mother did love you," I whispered. "Perhaps she just couldn't show it."

"I don't think that's very likely," he gave back slowly. "But thank you for trying to comfort me. I've found peace. I no longer need the illusion of a loving mother."

I didn't remind him of the tears he had shed just a few minutes before because of his mother. He hadn't appeared to have found peace with his past. But if he wanted to pretend it hadn't happened, it was fine with me.

"It is you I pity," he went on. "You don't deserve having had such a childhood. I'm sure you were a very lovable little boy. I, on the other hand…" He sighed. "I should have been grateful for what I had, a roof over my head and enough to eat, instead of demanding more. Love! A monster such as me doesn't deserve being loved."

"That is _not_ true," I stressed. "Everyone deserves to be loved. It has nothing to do with what people look like."

"Oh, spare me the sermon!" Erik said, but he sounded weary rather than angry. "It's a wonderful hypothesis they've probably taught you in church, but you know as well as I do it doesn't work like that. My mother didn't love me, Christine didn't love me, and … Never mind. No amount of nice words can change that. It's just the way it is."

If he thought that I was impressed by his determined manner of speaking, he was wrong. The more often he told me that no one loved him, the harder I tried to find arguments against it… even if it meant saying things that hurt me.

"Christine did love you," I told him quietly. "She didn't love you the way you wanted her to, but there were feelings on her side as well. You were her friend, her teacher, her protector. Do you really think that would have been possible without any kind of emotional bond? You must have felt it, because even I did. Sometimes I thought there was a part of her soul which I'd never gain access to. Only you could…" I swallowed hard, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. I wanted to make him understand what I was saying, and that was much harder if I cried while doing it.

"Why did she never come to see me then?" he asked, and juding by the sound of his voice, he was holding back tears as well. "I waited for her…"

"She was afraid," I replied. "Afraid that you might have been angry at her, afraid that you might have tried to make her stay… and also afraid of the feelings that might have welled up inside her or you. She didn't want to raise your hopes. We've talked a lot about it, you know. Maybe… if she'd have had more time… she'd have visisted you in the end…"

"But we'll never know that," Erik uttered what I had been thinking as well. "And even if she loved me, in one way or another… she's gone now. She's dead and buried. The only person to love me is dead – how fitting. After all, I've been told that I look like a walking corpse." His fingers danced across the shining white surface of the mask, which truly looked a little skull-like in the candle light.

I had never heard a man speak about himself with such disdain. It hurt me, deep in my heart. I didn't want Erik to think that we wasn't loved by anyone, because… It took me a moment to understand what that pain meant, but when I did, I smiled. I straightened up and looked into his eyes. This one time, I didn't want to miss his reaction.

"I love you, Erik," I whispered.

**Author's note: **As you've probably noticed, I've taken over Erik's past the way it is told in Susan Kay's book, whereas Raoul's past is more Leroux-like. I hope I've made both aspects clear, also for those of you who are not familiar with both versions.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Author's note:** Happy Valentine's Day to my readers! With all the talking of love, this chapter is rather fitting for the occasion. And even though the end might sound so, I can assure you it's not the last chapter. There's still a lot more to come.

**Chapter Seventeen**

As I watched the expression on Erik's face anxiously, checking for signs of outrage, it occurred to me that maybe I had put my declaration of love too bluntly. But then, I didn't have a lot of experience in that area. The only person I had ever told that I loved her had been Christine. With her, it had just come out naturally, and I hadn't thought about it much, neither before nor afterwards. There had been no doubt that I loved her, so saying it hadn't been a problem. It also hadn't been a problem for her to say the same.

Now it was different. As I looked at the man lying next to me, I felt with every fibre of my being that I wanted him to repeat those words to me. Suddenly I was desperate to hear them. But at the same time fear was creeping up my spine like an ugly spider. What if he wouldn't say it? What if he had never planned to say it? What if he had planned to say it, but thought it too soon? What… what if he simply didn't love me?

"Say something…" I urged him. "Please…" Unable to gaze at his face any longer while waiting for his reaction, I looked down, noticing in surprise that my fingers were shaking. Even my breath had become slightly faster. My whole existence seemed to revolve about his reply. Yet unexplicably, he took his time. I could hear him clear his throat.

"You… love me?" he finally asked slowly, as if checking what the words felt like in his mouth before uttering them.

I nodded, still looking at his chest rather than his face. It was broad and muscular, and I saw that some of the little hairs on it were already grey. Thinking about Erik's chest was much easier than thinking about what might happen. In fact, I thought about it so hard that his next question completely took me by surprise.

"How do you define love?"

Now I did look up at him.

"Pardon?" I muttered.

"How do you define love?" he repeated in a matter-of-fact voice that was strangely out of place in this situation. "I cannot comment on your statement unless you tell me what exactly you mean." He gave me a stern glance which horribly reminded me of my old teacher. He had looked at me in the same way when I had failed to answer a question sufficiently for his taste.

I didn't know why Erik asked me such things. The only explanation I could find was that he wanted to gain more time by talking about my feelings rather than his. Yet whatever was the reason, I realised that I wanted to answer. Maybe it would help me prove my sincerity, even if he hadn't believed me so far for some reason. And maybe he'd even confess that his own feelings were similar to mine.

"Well…" I started uncertainly. "Love is feeling that comes from here." I put a hand on my chest, in the region of my heart. "But it doesn't stay there. It spreads through my whole body. I can feel it in my fingers and toes, in my head and in my…" I used my free hand to gesture at my lower belly, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"That's not love," Erik argued. "It's lust."

"But love is the origin of lust," I gave back. "Well, maybe not always, but in my case it's true. We'd have never done what we did if there weren't strong feelings between us."

He nodded in acknowledgment.

"I think about you all the time," I admitted. "Yes, I know we've only met again a few days ago, but since that day you're always on my mind. And when I see you, my heart starts beating more quickly, my hands grow sweaty, and I don't know what to say, because all I want is kiss you. But there's more," I added hastily, before he could make another remark about lust. "I also feel this strong urge to protect you. When you told me about your childhood, I wanted to cradle you in my arms and hold you tight forever. I want to make up for all the rejection and unkindness, even if it'll take me all my life… which is the amount of time I'd like to spend with you."

"And why do you feel all this?" Erik asked.

I stared at him in disbelief. I had just poured out the contents of my heart for him, and he asked me for the reasons? Morever, he was still using that flat voice which didn't give away what he was thinking. It was slightly unnerving.

"I cannot explain it!" I blurted out. "People cannot explain why they feel what they feel – they simply do it. I have no idea why I have all those feelings when I look at you. If I told anyone else about it, they'd probably think me insane, but – "

"Exactly!" he exclaimed triumphantly, as if this was the moment he had been waiting for. "Now you've said it yourself – insane!"

I frowned, wondering what on earth he was trying to tell me. Yet I knew better than to interrupt him and ask. He'd go on and explain it much faster if I left him in peace. And that was what he did, just a moment later.

"All those feelings you're describing are nothing but an outburst of insanity," he started, as if that were the obvious conclusion. "It is simply impossible that you really feel the way you do, and when you think about it, you'll realise I'm right and you're wrong."

There were many things I didn't like, and being talked to like a three-year-old boy was one of them. I had had more than my share of such conversations with my brother.

"Are you calling me mad?" I asked angrily. Here I was, confessing my deepest emotions to him, and all he did was suggesting that I was insane.

"Only in a way," he replied in what he probably considered a soothing voice. "And it won't last very long. In a few weeks' time you'll wake up, remember the things you said and laugh about their absurdity."

It took me a moment to understand what his words implied.

"So you're sending me away?" I whispered.

He shook his head.

"You can stay here," he said. "We can still enjoy ourselves. Just forget that stupid talking of love." He stretched out his hand to brush over my hair, but I pushed it aside before it reached my head. Erik let out a little sigh. "Oh Raoul, don't be like that," he muttered. "You'll soon understand that at the end of the day, I'm only saving you from making a fool of yourself."

"Never," I stressed. "First you're calling me temporarily insane, then you say my feelings are absurd, and now you want to save me? Even without a brilliant mind such as yours I can see that those things don't fit together."

"You just don't understand it now because you're upset," he said smoothly. Why did he have to have a reply to anything? And, even more irritatingly, why didn't I possess the same ability?

"I'll… I'll never understand it," I murmured defiantly, feeling slightly intimidated by his smooth self-confidence, but trying not to show it. That was why my voice grew louder with every word I spoke. "Why can't you simply accept the fact that I love you? You should be happy. But no! M. Opera Ghost is never happy! Instead, he tries to persuade me that my feelings are wrong. Well, I'll tell you one thing: I don't believe you, and you won't talk me into believing you, even if you try all night. I love you. You can tell me that you don't return my feelings, but you cannot tell me I'm insane because I love you. So don't bother."

I wanted to turn away from him to underline my words, but he wrapped his arms around me and didn't let me go.

"I do," he said simply.

"You do what?" I asked blankly. I had no idea which part of my little speech he was referring to.

"I return your feelings," he replied softly. "I love you, Raoul. And incidentally, I don't know the reason either."

I held my breath, feeling my heart swell to unnatural proportions. I didn't dare believe what I had just heard. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask whether he was joking, when I realised that wouldn't have made me any better than he was. If I wanted him to believe me, I had to believe him as well.

"You… do…" I whispered. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

He gave me a wry smile.

"Because I was afraid, silly boy," he answered. "You see, even the mighty Opera Ghost is afraid every now and then. If you hadn't told me about your feelings first, I might have never told you. And still…" He paused, and I sensed that something was causing him enormous trouble.

"What is it?" I asked gently.

"I know that my feelings for you are sincere, because I can feel it in my heart," Erik started, but I didn't allow myself to be cheerful yet, for there was more to come. "And despite the things I said before, I believe you when you say your feelings are sincere as well… now. But I know it won't stay that way. I know that, sooner rather than later, you'll meet someone else, a man or a woman, and you'll be gone. At the moment, I'm filling a gap, because you're feeling lonely and abandoned and I'm the only one there for you. But once you'll have recovered… Do you remember what I said before? One day you'll wake up and laugh about the absurdity of your feelings. And I don't want to lie next to you when it happens, still loving you and desperately wishing I could turn back time and just be happy with you…"

Wordlessly, I leaned over and kissed his lips softly, trying to put all the love I felt into that kiss. I couldn't have expressed how much his confession meant to me in any other way. He loved me – that was the most important part of his words for me at the moment. Yet naturally everything else he had said pushed itself into my mind as well. So I merely allowed myself a few moments to rejoice. Then I broke the kiss gently.

"I can't promise you anything, Erik," I told him truthfully. "Yes, it is possible that I won't love you till the end of time. But I love you now. You've already trusted me a few times. You've shown me your face, you let me touch it…" The memory made him shiver. "…you invited me into your home, you've even given me the key to it. So far, you have not regretted any of it, have you?" He shook his head. "Then I ask you to trust me again," I went on. "This time, I ask you to trust me with your heart, and I'll do my best not to disappoint you. I'll try to make you happy… or as happy as you allow me to." That remark earned me a smile. "_Do_ you allow me to?" I asked. Again, he nodded.

Perhaps our relationship had started sooner, maybe as soon as the moment that I had stood at his door for the first time. But I'd always remember this moment as the beginning, this moment in which I let overwhelming joy spread through my body, erasing every negative thought from my mind. It even made me feel a little giddy.

"In that case… can we start our conversation again, without all the interruption between the important parts?" I asked. Without waiting for his reply, I went on: "I love you, Erik.".

He threw me a puzzled glance, then he seemed to understand my intention.

"I love you, too, Raoul," he gave back. He had realised that this was all that mattered.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

The following morning had been one of the best in my life. What could have made me more joyful than waking up next to the man I loved, who also was the man who loved me? We had exchanged the first sleepy kisses, which had quickly grown anything but sleepy. Then we had even had breakfast together, talking and joking. The atmosphere had been wonderfully relaxed. None of the momentary tension of the previous night had still been there.

If it had been for me, I wouldn't have left his house at all. Yet somewhen in the middle of breakfast, I had remembered that my sisters and their husbands would come to eat lunch with my brother and me today. I couldn't have possibly missed it. After all, it had been arranged by my sister Sophie as a way to cheer me up after the funeral. Since she had far more respect for my feelings than Philippe, there would be no nice girl from the neighbourhood present this time. That was at least a small comfort.

Saying goodbye to Erik had been terrible.

"You'll only be gone for a few hours, not a year," he had reminded me gruffly, as I had hardly been able to hold back tears, but I had sensed the sadness behind the indifferent façade. We had exchanged a lot of long kisses, and even now, as I walked back to my home, I could still feel his lips on mine. If I had known how fantastic it was to kiss him, I'd have tried it much sooner. He'd have probably killed me for my insolence, but it would have been worth it. I smiled to myself. After a morning like this, not even the thought of death by the hands of Erik could scare me.

The gates stood open when I reached the estate, which was a clear sign that my sisters were already there or at least that they'd arrive any moment. The servant standing outside confirmed my assumption.

"Ah, M. le Vicomte!" he greeted me, bowing deeply. "I've just had the pleasure of welcoming your sisters. They arrived within minutes of each other."

"Good," I muttered, not sure what else to say. "I'll go in then, too…"

The servant nodded and started closing the gates behind me, while I made my way to the house, walking much more slowly than I'd have usually done. I didn't want to meet all my siblings at the same time, in case Philippe made a comment on why I hadn't come home last night. It would be better to see them already sitting at the table, distracted by the food.

At the first glance, my plan seemed to work, for the entrance door was closed as I approached it. I pulled the key out of my pocket and inserted it into the lock. Opening the door, I stepped into the corridor quietly. Perhaps the servants were the only ones who had noticed that I hadn't come home. If I was lucky, my brother had been out as well last night and hadn't bothered looking into my room when he had come back. In that case I could slip into my room, change my clothes, come back down and pretend I had still been sleeping.

My hope was crushed when I turned around to the coatrack behind the door. Philippe was leaning against it, the expression on his face triumphant.

"Ah, it's the Prodigal Son!" he remarked. "Have you found your way home at last? And just in time for lunch – how very considerate of you! So… where have you been?"

"That's none of your business," I snapped. I could have kicked myself. Had I seriously expected him to miss a chance to taunt me? "Have you ever heard of privacy?"

"Yes, but I never liked it," he gave back lazily. "Besides, _I_ always tell you where I spent the night…"

"…even though I never want to hear it," I finished his sentence. "And even if you didn't tell me, it wouldn't make any difference. Anyone in the street would be able to tell me about Comte Philippe's latest escapades."

My brother placed a hand on his chest in an exaggerated gesture.

"You're hurting my feelings, Raoul," he complained, making a face. Then he smiled again. "But you won't distract me. Where have you been? Or would you rather have me take a guess?" He pushed himself away from the coatrack and walked around me. "Let's see…" he muttered. "Dishevelled hair… untidy clothes… and that unmistakable huge grin on your face when you came in. There's just one explanation: You've finally done it!"

"No!" I protested instantly. "I didn't do anything. I… I…" My voice trailed off as I squirmed under my brother's gaze. I simply couldn't come up with a good excuse as long as he was staring at me like that.

"Oooh," he made, giving me a knowing smile. "Now I understand. It didn't work, did it? You were… unable to perform." He gave the last word a delicate little stress that made me want to slap him. "But Raoul!" he went on, shaking his head. "That really shouldn't happen to a man as young as you. It certainly never happened to me… on the contrary! But let's not get into that now. After all, I don't want to make you jealous." I snorted. "What was the problem?" he asked in a would-be sympathetic voice. "Was the girl so ugly that you didn't get aroused? You should have taken Cecile while you still had the chance to. Maybe I'll invite her again tomorrow. Or was it just the other way round? Were you so excited that you came too soon? Did the girl laugh at you? Or – ?"

"Stop!" I cried. It was enough. Up to now I had been too shocked to react, but the last part had hurt my male pride too much to bear it silently. I had not been with someone ugly, at least not from my point of view. And I had not come too soon. I had come just at the right moments. How did my brother dare assume such things about me? And how did he dare address me in that way, as if I were a little boy who had done something wrong? I knew he only wanted to talk about this topic because he seized every chance to brag about his legendary success with women. He didn't care at all about what had happened to me. "None of what you said is true," I continued. "And even if it were true, you'd be the last person I'd tell about it."

"Temper, temper!" he chided me, smirking. "Or would you like to discuss the subject with our sisters and their husbands present? If you go on shouting like this, they'll come running sooner or later, demanding explanations. And do you really want that?"

I said nothing, knowing that he was right and hating it. The dining room was far away from the entrance hall, in the part of the building overlooking the garden, so the chances that someone heard us were remote. Still I didn't want to take any risks. My sisters, especially Sophie, had always had a very good sensor for detecting arguments between us brothers.

"I'll go to my room now," I announced with as much dignity as I had left. "I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour's time."

"And make sure you do something about your hair!" Philippe called after me as I ascended the stairs. "It looks as if you had spent the night hanging upside-down in a cave!" He always had to have the last word.

Ten minutes later I walked down the corridor to the dining room. Although I had hurried very much, I had hardly managed to wash myself, change my clothes and comb my hair, which had truly looked rather untidy. This had been due to the fact that I had yet to find a mirror in Erik's house. He surely possessed one – how else was he able to shave? Yet I hadn't dared ask him, but simply combed my hair with my fingers.

Anyway, I looked immaculate now. My black trousers didn't have the slightest crease, and the pale blue shirt had exactly the same colour as my eyes. My sisters would like it. So would Erik. He was a man who noticed such details. Only a few short hours till I'd see him again… I could hardly wait. But first I had to survive lunch with my siblings. Well, maybe it wouldn't be too bad. At least the presence of my sisters would keep Philippe from talking about my love life… or so I hoped.

Approaching the dining room, I ran my hands over my shirt one last time, took a deep breath and opened the door. At once, everyone stopped talking and looked at me. For a few moments, I simply stood there, letting my gaze wander over the people assembled at the table.

My brother sat at the head of the table, the expression on his face self-assured as usual. My sisters were on either side of him. Sophie, the oldest, gave me a warm smile. From an old painting of our family I knew that she looked a lot like my mother, and her smile always had a motherly character. My sister Clarille's smile was just as warm… and very contagious. She had the same blue eyes and blond hair I had. In our childhood we had loved playing a game in which we had been twins and Sophie had been our mother. Philippe was the only one who had inherited our father's appearance, ´the only one who looks like a man´, as he put it.

Each of my sisters was seated next to her husband. Richard, Sophie's husband, was easily the oldest of the group. He threw me a questioning glance, raising his eyebrows slightly. It was his way of saying that he'd be interested in an explanation for me being late, but he wouldn't mind not getting one either. He was a professor for ancient languages and just couldn't find too much interest for such mundane matters. It was good that Sophie was a very practical woman, for he certainly wasn't a lot of help with every-day problems.

Alexandre, on the other hand, smiled at me brightly. Clarille and he were made for each other. Not only were they both passioante about art and horseback-riding, even their smiles looked very much alike, for they had the same honest faces.

"We thought you wouldn't join us at all," he said, after I had bid everyone welcome and settled down, opposite Philippe.

"Well, I was… going for a walk and must have lost track of time," I told them. It wasn't even a lie. I had indeed been for a walk… yesterday afternoon. Yet as long as nobody asked when I had left the house, they would never know that. The only one who could tell them the full truth was my brother. I threw him a warning glance, which he returned unflichingly. I should have known he hadn't forgiven me for not telling him where had spent the night.

"Yes, it's easy to lose track of time," he remarked. The expression on his face reminded me of a cat, ready to pounce on a mouse. "Especially if one's busy with – "

"The soup, Mesdames and Messieurs!" I had never been so happy about seing our cook before. She marched into the room with a large pot in her hands and started filling the plates in front of us with soup. I could have kissed her. She had spared me a lot of embarrassment.

It was custom in our family not to talk during the meal. My father had always done it like that, and even years after his death, we didn't dare change it. Philippe sometimes made exceptions, especially when he was entertaining a girl, but when all siblings were together, the only remarks that were exchanged every now and then were about the quality of the food. Usually I found the silence oppressive after a while, but today I cherished it.

The only part of the meal I was dreading was the coffeee afterwards, which we always took in the sitting room. We usually sat there in two groups, the men and the women, and I already knew that my brother would tease me again for rather being with my sisters. But then, I'd have rather sat down with a hungry lion than with him.

Yet this time, it turned out that I didn't have another choice than going with him. The moment we got up from the table, he came over to me and seized my sleeve, gently steering me out of the room.

"No, no, little brother," he whispered. "For once you'll sit with the men."

I wanted to protest, but the words didn't leave my mouth. I hated drawing too much attention to me, which would have doubtlessly happened if I had raised my voice. So I remained silent once more, fuming inwardly. Why could my brother never just leave me in peace?

My sisters threw me questioning glances as I settled down next to Philippe in the sitting room instead of choosing my usual seat at the window. Yet they didn't say anything either. Philippe was the oldest son. He could still tell us what to do.

After just a few moments, we were joined by Richard and Alexandre.

"How is your business going?" Richard asked my brother. He didn't seem to be too interested in the answer, but Philippe had never been one to be distracted by a lack of enthusiasm. It would have interfered with his overwhelming urge to talk about himself.

"It's simply splendid," he replied. "Only yesterday I managed to…"

I stopped listening properly almost instantly, knowing only too well that my brother didn't need more than the occasional ´I see.´ and ´Really?´ to go on for at least half an hour. It was dull, but better than the alternative. Every minute I didn't have to talk to him was a good minute. I let myself sink into my own personal dreamworld, in which there was nothing but Erik, me and a very comfortable bed. It was a wonderful place, full of whispered conversations and tender caresses. It was a place of love.

"Aren't you listening?"

A hand came out of nowhere, grabbed my forearm and pulled it away from under my chin. I fell forwards and straightened up hastily, massaging my neck, which felt as if it had just snapped in half.

"It isn't polite not to listen when someone tells a story," my brother went on.

I felt like saying ´And it's even less polite to tell a story when no one wants to hear it´, but the journey into my dreamworld had made me rather peaceful.

"Go on then," I muttered.

"Right," Philippe said. "I was just about to reach the truly interesting part of the story… So I met this Comte de Matoine, and we were talking about business and seemed to agree about most aspects. So I asked him to come to dinner one of these days and bring his wife with him if he wanted to, but he told me he wasn't married. That made me a little suspicious, for he's almost forty years old and should have found a wife by now, even though he's not that good-looking." He flicked back a strand of his hair, causing in me the urgent wish to part with my lunch. "Anyway, I asked around and found out that…" He made a dramatic pause before finally revealing: "… he prefers the company of _men_!".

It was very unfortunate that I had just taken a sip of coffee, for it went down the wrong way, and I started coughing. Alexandre gave me a few hearty pats on the back, which nearly sent me tumbling to the floor. I could only hope that he was more careful with my sister.

"It's all right," I assured him hastily. His enthusiasm was nice, but it could become a little annoying every now and then.

My brother, on the other hand, looked positively delighted that I had shown such a strong reaction.

"I know you've probably never heard of that… phenomenon, but it exists," he told me.

"But surely not in our circles… right?" Alexandre asked uncertainly. "I mean, I've heard about such things among sailors who… well, who don't see a woman for months on their journeys… But here in Paris? In the aristocracy?"

"Such ways of living have always existed," Richard informed us in his slow voice. Unlike Alexandre and me, he did not look shocked. He had the rare ability to regard everything he heard as a purely academic matter. "They were well-established in Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece… we even have proof of such things happening in countries such as India and Persia."

Remembering the manuscript that I had bought in the book shop, the manuscript that I had picked up again on my way out of the opera and that was lying in my room now, I looked down, afraid someone could notice me blush.

Meanwhile, Richard went on:

"Even the great Dante mentions them in his ´Divine Comedy´. Sodomites are kept in the seventh circle of Hell, forced to walk around in a desert of burning sand, with flakes of fire raining down onto them. _´Oh figliuol,´ disse. ´Qual di questa greggia s'arresta punto, giace poi cent'anni senz'arrostarsi quando 'l foco il feggia. Però va oltre: I' verrò a' panni; e poi rigiugnerò la mia masnada, che van piangendo i suoi etterni danni.´. _

He paused, noticing at last that we were staring at him blankly. Even I had looked up again. I spoke a little Italian, but not enough to translate a passage I had only heard once. My English had always been better than my Italian.

"Could you perhaps repeat that in a language all of us understand?" Alexandre finally asked.

"Oh," Richard made, shaking his head slightly, as if puzzled that not everyone spoke Italian as fluently as he did. "Of course. _´Oh son,´ he said. ´Whoever of his herd a moment stops, lies then a hundred years, nor fans himself when smitheth him the fire. Therefore go on; I at thy skirts wil come, and afterwards will I rejoin my band, which goes lamenting its eternal doom.´"_

"Erm… nice," my brother commented. He had never had a liking for poetry.

"What a terrible punishment," Alexandre muttered. "Fire… walking around forever without pause… eternal doom…"

"Well, it's their own fault," Philippe said. "Did anyone force them to do those things with men? No! They must have been insane. I mean… who'd do that with men as long as there are enough women around? Even an ugly woman would be better than that…" He threw me a sideways glance and winked. Then he continued: "I once heard what they do together. Did you know they even lie with each other, like a man and a woman? It's digusting.".

He talked and talked, but the pounding of blood in my ears was so loud that I no longer heard him. It took me all my willpower not to jump up and run out of the room. Yet I knew that if I left now, I'd only made them suspicious.

I felt sick to my stomach. Apart from a few small doubts at the beginning of my meetings with Erik, I had never thought about society's opinion of people such as ourselves. Until now. Was it abnormal what we were doing? Was it disgusting? Would we go to Hell?

**Author's note:** The passage Richard quotes is from Canto 15 of Dante's "Divine Comedy". I used the Longfellow translation for the English part.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

In a way, I was lucky. Just a few minutes after my brother had introduced that very delicate topic, my sisters came over to join us. Clarille winked at me as she walked past us and returned with a chair a moment later. I gave her a lopsided smile. Under different circumstances I'd have appreciated their attempt to pull me out of Philippe's clutches, but now I was too upset to care. Sure, it was good that I no longer had to listen to the men's opinions on sodomy, yet the arrival of my sisters meant that I'd actually have to pay attention to the conversation, and I wasn't certain whether I'd be able to.

Philippe, who had been in mid-sentence about that Comte's seemingly very amusing escapades in some theatre, stopped when he saw my sisters settle down.

"Well, Mesdames, have you been enjoying yourself?" he asked. He tried to hide his irritation, but it was clear that he'd have liked to finish his story without interruptions. Yet now that the women were present, he could no longer do so. Inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn't been listening too attentively, but even the occasional word had been too much.

"Oh yes," Clarille replied airily. "It seems that we're having even more to talk about than usual."

As if her words had been a secret signal, both of my sisters placed a hand on their bellies, which had grown slightly larger over the last months. Not only had my sisters married on the same day, but they had also managed to be with child at the same time, though Sophie was a few weeks farther than Clarille. Still, knowing them, I guessed they'd probably give birth on the same day. The thought made me smile.

"So… when will you bring a girl home to marry?" Sophie asked.

I was about to give a short, annoyed reply, when I realised that her gaze wasn't resting upon me, but upon my brother. My smile widened, as I sensed that the conversation would take an unexpected, yet very pleasant turning. I could imagine the kind of reply he'd have given if it had just been us men, but my sisters' presence forced him to be polite.

"Erm… there's no one in particular at the moment," Philippe said with a sheepish grin.

"Oh, but you can't remain a bachelor for all times," Clarille argued, our sister's advance making her courageous as well. "Most men are already married at your age. Besides…" She exchanged a glance with Sophie before dealing him the final blow. "…you've got to have an heir to carry on the family name."

Oh, it was a delight to watch my brother squirm in his chair, lost for words. He could hardly tell my sisters that maybe there already existed one or two children of his, although none of them would ever carry the family name.

Philippe's gaze wandered through the room restlessly, apparently looking for something, _anything_ that would get him out of this situation. Then he looked at me, and the smile returned to his face. My smile, however, faded. I knew what he was about to do, and I couldn't prevent it.

"I may not produce an heir in the nearer future," he said, leaning back in his seat casually. "But perhaps Raoul will. After all, he did spend several nights away from home in the last week…" His voice trailed off delicately, but with a definite air of triumph.

For the second time since I had come home today, everyone stared at me. Even Richard emerged from his own world to look at me with great interest.

"Raoul!" my sisters exclaimed almost in the same moment, sounding very pleased with this turn of events.

"Why didn't you tell us there was someone in your life?" Clarille went on, while Sophie seemed content with beaming at me. "We're so happy that you've found someone after… that dreadful story with Christine." Philippe scowled at her. Christine was not to be mentioned under this roof.

Quickly Sophie continued:

"Who is it then? Anyone we know?".

Yes! I wanted to scream. Yes, it is someone you know, at least by reputation. It's the Phantom of the Opera himself! But I couldn't do that, especially not now, after what I had heard the other men say. They'd despise me, I knew it. Maybe I already despised myself. I was abnormal. My brother could be horrible at times – most of the time, really – but one day he'd settle down with a girl and produce an heir. I'd never do that.

My sisters' questions and curious glances were the final straw. I felt as if the house was falling down over me, burying me under it. I couldn't breathe properly. Instinctively, I tugged at the collar of my shirt, but it didn't become better. I couldn't bear having that secret any longer. I had to talk to someone, or I'd explode. Yet it couldn't be one of the people staring at me at the moment. I needed someone who wouldn't think bad of me because… because he heard a lot of bad things from a lot of people every day. Of course. That was the solution.

At once I grew calm again, and the tightness in my throat vanished.

"We'll talk about it another time," I promised, getting up from my seat. "Unfortunately, I have an appointment that can't wait."

"Of course," my brother remarked knowingly.

"With Father Barand," I added, enjoying to see the smile disappear from his face.

Even if it had been a lie, he couldn't say anything about me meeting the priest. Neither could my sisters. Both got up as well to embrace me.

"I wanted to invite you for tea one of these days," Sophie whispered when it was her turn. "Just Clarille, me and you."

"I'll be there," I muttered. ´Right after I've sorted out the chaos in my head,´ I added inwardly.

I shook hands with the men.

"Will the priest have you stay overnight?" Philippe asked in a low voice.

"I don't think so," I replied. "But there's no reason for you to wait for me. I won't tell you anything." Then I left, before he could make another stupid comment.

Making my way to the church, which fortunately wasn't far from my home, I realised that I had no idea whether Father Barand would be there. It had been Christine who had gone to church regularly, not me. I had accompanied her every now and then, maybe once or twice a month, but it wasn't nearly enough to know where the priest was at which time of day. I could only hope he'd be there, for I wasn't sure whether I'd dare go to him a second time.

Cool air enveloped me as I entered the church. I inhaled deeply, revelling in the coolness and the quiet and feeling at peace with myself. Churches had always had that effect on me. A moment later, however, I remembered why I was here, and a layer of perspiration blossomed on my forehead. The feeling of peacefulness disappeared as quickly as it had come.

I let my gaze wander over the benches, but I only saw two or three elderly women sitting right at the front. Hesitantly I moved towards them, debating with myself whether it would be very rude to interrupt one of them while she was praying to ask where Father Barand was.

"Are you looking for me?" A warm, heavy hand was placed on my shoulder, and I spun around. Realising who it was, I smiled.

"Yes, I've come to see you," I answered. "I… I want to confess… But if it's a bad time, I could come back tomorrow." ´Or maybe never,´ I thought.

"It is a good time," he assured me gently. "I told you to come and see me whenever you felt like it, and now you're here. It makes me very happy."

My stomach contracted painfully, since I couldn't help thinking that once he'd heard what I had to say, he wouldn't be that happy anymore. Could a priest throw someone out of a church if they had done something extremely bad?

"Shall we go then?" he suggested, as if sensing my insecurity. "There's no reason to be afraid. You know that I won't repeat any of what you'll tell me to another person. Nor will I judge you."

We walked the short way to the confessional booth in silence and went inside. I kneeled down on the low bench, while Father Barand opened the window separating the two part of the booth.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," I started, glad that I still remembered the right words. "It has been… erm, about three months since my last confession, and… and things have changed very much since then. Christine… Christine has died, and I'm very unhappy about it…"

"That is not a sin, my son," the priest said in a low voice.

"Yes, but that's not all," I argued, suddenly afraid that he'd stop listening before I had even started properly. "In the last days, I've developed… feelings for someone else. I think… I'm sure it's love." My cheeks flushed scarlet, and I hadn't even reached the worst part yet.

"I can understand that you feel guilty for loving someone else," Father Barand told me gently. "But life has to go on. Christine wouldn't have wanted you to stay alone for the rest of your days. So if you truly love that woman – "

"It's not a woman," I blurted out, realising that I had interrupted a priest and not caring in the slightest. "It's… it's a man."

There was silence on the other side of the booth. I held my breath as I waited for the reply. It came rather hesitantly.

"Well, you know… you know that it's wrong to desire another man." He cleared his throat. "But since this is a very difficult and challenging time for you and you've already seen the wrong of your ways, I think five Hail Marys should be sufficient to make up for it." He ended his little speech with a prayer in Latin.

This was the end of the confession, so I got up slowly. I had my reply. I just wished it could have been a different one. But what had I expected from a priest?

"Raoul?" I heard my name being spoken, just as I was about to leave. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the window was not closed yet. "I only gave you my advice as a priest," Father Barand went on. "I know it's not what you came here for, but would you also like to hear my advice as a man?"

I nodded. It couldn't be any worse than what he had said before.

"That man you told me about… do you truly love him, or is it just… well, lust?" he asked.

"I love him," I replied shyly, looking down at the wooden floor. "And he… he loves me, too." I had expected to be even more embarrassed by speaking those words aloud, but actually it made me feel very good. Erik loved me.

"If there's one thing I've learned from many years of talking to people, it is that love is the most wonderful and powerful emotion of all," he said, the gentleness returning to his voice. "We have to love God, of course, but also each other. When you came into the church to look for me, I noticed at once that something had changed about you. You seemed scared and worried, but there was this… glow around you… as if you had found someone who makes you very happy. If you love that man, and if he returns those feelings, you should act on it by all means. I cannot give you my blessing as a priest, but I can wish you good luck as a man."

"But I am worried," I admitted. "So many people think it's wrong what we're doing…"

"I'm afraid that is a moral problem, not a religious one," he told me. "And I don't think I'm the person you should discuss it with. Why don't you go to the man you love and talk to him? He'll understand you more than anyone else, for he surely has the same problems."

I nodded, although I doubted it. Erik always seemed so self-assured about what he was doing. Still, talking to him couldn't be bad.

"I'll do that," I promised, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had actually done it. I had told someone about my feelings, and he hadn't judged me.

Now we did leave the booth.

"Thank you," I muttered, shaking his hand.

"You're welcome," he said. "Oh, and don't forget the Hail Marys. I'm still a priest as well, after all."

**Author's note:** Thanks to Winnie1955, who told me how a confession works. I hope I got everything right.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

By the time I left the church, having dutifully said my five Hail Marys, I found that it wasn't nearly late enough to go to the opera. It was mid-afternoon, and I had agreed to meet Erik sometime during the performance, since the chances of anyone seeing me then would be remote. But what was I to do now? Going home was out of the question. Even if my sisters had already left, Philippe would still be there, trying to make me talk to him. So I decided to go for a good, long walk instead.

There was a nice little park about a mile away from the church. Since it was a sunny day, the paths and meadows were full of children with their mothers or governesses. It was a very peaceful picture, reminding me of my own childhood. I could almost see myself running among the children, a small, skinny boy followed by a slightly older girl, Clarille. I had stolen her doll or her comb every so often, just to tease her a little. She had usually caught up with me quickly, and we had fought for a few moments before becoming best friends again and walking over to Sophie hand in hand, asking her to tell us a story. It had been good times.

Somehow, Philippe never played a big role in those memories. He had rarely spent time with my sisters and me, unless our governess had forced him to do so. On those occasions he had often broken our toys and reduced Clarille and me to tears, till Sophie had sent him away. At that time he had still listened to her, at least every now and then. He had never belonged to us. He had had his friends, and I had had my sisters.

Naturally, our relationship had grown a little more loose over the years, especially after their weddings. The day my sisters had left the family home had been one of the worst in my life. I had needed weeks to comprehend that they were no longer there, and the urge to simply walk into their rooms when I wanted to talk to them had remained for months. We had always been able to talk about everything…

…and still I doubted that I could tell them about Erik and me. Settling down on a bench in a remote corner of the park, I heaved a sigh. It was true that I had already told one person about us, but talking to the priest had been fairly easy, since he was used to hearing bad things about other people and wasn't allowed to tell them to anyone else.

Of course, my sisters wouldn't tell my secret to anyone either, for they'd be too shocked and embarrassed. Their brother, in love with a man! I didn't know how they'd deal with such news. They had been so pleased to hear that I had supposedly met a girl, and while I didn't think they'd shun me, I was afraid of disappointing them. Perhaps Christine hadn't been the perfect girl they had imagined as my future wife, but at least she had been a girl.

I could almost hear Sophie's concerned voice, not unlike the priest's. ´Are you sure that this is what you truly want, Raoul? I understand that you find it difficult to continue your life in the usual way after Christine's death, but being with a man? Don't you think that's a little too… extreme?´ ´You don't have to get a new girl immediately,´ Clarille would go on. ´I know how annoying Philippe can be with his teasing, but you don't have to rush anything.´ I gave a bitter laugh. As if I only was with Erik because I needed a change!

And after the piece of information that I was in love with a man, I'd have to reveal who that man was. The only good thing about it was that after those first news, my sisters would probably be too shocked to argue a lot. They'd merely stare at me incredulously, muttering ´The Phantom of the Opera?´ in faint voices. Maybe they'd even alert a doctor, assuming I had gone insane.

But in the end, they would believe me. And that was when the disappointment would start, the disappointment that their little brother, whom they had brought up together with so much love, was… abnormal. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. I couldn't do that to them. And I couldn't do it to me either. Apart from Erik, Sophie and Clarille were the only friendly people left in my life. I couldn't bear the thought of losing them.

Sighing again, I closed my eyes and tried to comfort myself with pictures of last night. Yet to my horror, I had to find that it didn't work anymore. Suddenly I saw everything from my sisters' point of view. If they had had any idea that I had spent last night exchanging kisses and caresses with another man, they'd have probably refused to sit at the same table as me.

Then, unbidden as usual, my brother's voice pushed its way among the images, and suddenly I saw the infamous Comte doing all those things with me, while Philippe commentated everything for Richard and Alexandre.

_"And here's a very good example of how abnormal they are," he said as the Comte forced his lips upon mine. "They kiss, just like a man and a woman do." _

_"Most fascinating," Richard stated, leaning forward to get a closer look. "A sin against God indeed. They belong into the seventh circle of hell, there's no doubt about it."_

I woke up with a start, gasping for breath. For a few moments, I didn't know where I was or what I was doing here. Slowly I recalled that I was in a park, waiting for it to become evening. Well, that at least I had accomplished. Looking up, I saw that the sun had already sunk below the level of trees, tinging their leaves golden. It was a beautiful sight, yet my wariness allowed me to enjoy it for a moment only. Then I patted my pockets hastily, making sure that my money and the keys were still there. Dozing off in a park could end very badly if the wrong kind of people came by. Fortunately that did not seem to have happened in my case.

I had no idea why I had fallen asleep at all. It seemed that ever since I had met Erik again, I needed as much sleep as an infant. I smiled to myself. Erik would have doubtlessly liked that comparison. Perhaps I'd share it with him later. But first there were more important things we had to discuss. I thought wryly that at least I wouldn't have to let him in on the secret that I loved him. He already knew it perfectly well.

Suddenly growing restless, I jumped up from the bench and started walking down the now deserted path. I couldn't wait to see Erik again. I wasn't sure whether he'd understand my worries, though. It strongly depended on which mood he'd be in. He had shown more that once that he could be very sensitive… if he wanted to, that was. And there was no time like the present to find out whether he was in the right mood now.

By the time I reached the opera, the sun had vanished entirely. I consulted my pocket watch as I stood in front of the entrance doors and realised that the second act of the opera had probably already begun. According to Erik, it was a good time, since the coaches sent to fetch people would not have come yet. The corridors would be as empty as the paths in the park now. I threw a brief glance over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching me and entered the building.

I made my way to Christine's dressing room without detours. Over breakfast, I had been forced to admit that I probably wouldn't find the way back to Erik's world without help. To my surprise, he hadn't laughed at me, but merely suggested that we'd meet at the mirror and he'd show me a second time. I couldn't help thinking that he rather enjoyed his role as a teacher.

Arriving at the right door, I pulled out the most precious of my keys. Since we hadn't arranged an exact time when we'd meet, I didn't know whether Erik was already there. A tingle of excitement rose from my stomach. Yes, I was indeed looking forward to seeing him again. I inserted the key into the key hole, yet the door was pulled open before I could turn it.

"At last!" Erik breathed, pulling me into the room by the arm. He closed the door behind me and pushed me against it. The next few minutes were a whirl of lips and tongues and of hands gliding over annoyingly dressed bodies. Our welcome was even more passionate that I could have hoped, and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it. Now that I was with Erik again, I didn't know how I had survived the hours without him.

It was only when his lips left mine as he looked down to unbutton my shirt that I remembered what I had planned to do first.

"We need to talk," I blurted out.

His hands were pulled back at once, and he looked up at me.

"Of course," he said with a little sigh. "I should have realised that this was too easy. What is it this time?"

I could practically see his feelings disappear behind a mask of indifference that was much more difficult to remove that the porcellain one he was wearing.

Cupping his face, I whispered gently:

"Don't be like this, Erik. I just want to ask you one question, then we can go on.".

He tried to glare at me, but there was a tiny smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"You should better start then," he gave back. "I can wait. But can you?"

I hadn't even noticed his hand creeping down my body until it cupped a completely different part of me. I gave an undignified little squeak and swatted his hand away, telling that certain part of myself that there'd be a lot of time for such things later.

Erik took a step backwards and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"So?" he prompted.

"Is it wrong what we're doing?" I asked quickly. "I mean, morally wrong…" I added, just to make sure he understood me.

"What exactly are you referring to?" he wanted to know matter-of-factly. "Is it wrong that we're talking to each other, after all that has happened between us? Is it wrong that we're meeting… kissing… touching?" He paused for a moment, and when he went on, his voice was heavy with disappointment. "Is it wrong that we love each other? Is that what you mean?"

His questions sent a wave of pain directly into my heart.

"No!" I all but shouted. "That is not what I mean. I don't… I could never regret loving you." My cheeks flushed scarlet because of my boldness, but I didn't look away from him. His gaze grew soft.

"I believe you," he said, and there was something like astonishment in his voice. "But what is it that you want to know then?"

I realised that 'd have to tell him more before he'd understand me.

"You know that I've been home to have lunch with my brother and my sisters," I began. "Well, after we had eaten, Philippe and I sat together with the husbands of my sisters, and my brother told us a story about a Comte who… who prefers men to women, if you know what I mean. And then they all started talking about how disgusting and abnormal that is and that men who do such things belong in hell…"

"And now you want to know whether you'll go to hell as well?" Erik asked with a wry smile. "I've already told you that I'm not the right person to ask about such matters. I don't – "

"I'm not worried about my soul… at the moment," I assured him. "I just want to know why people say such things about others… about men like us. We're not abnormal, we're just… different." I had slipped into the use of ´we´ almost without noticing it, and when I did notice it, I didn't mind. I belonged to that group of people now. By insulting one of them, my brother had also insulted me.

"Speak for yourself," Erik said bitterly, with no hint of a smile. "I've been called abnormal more often that I can count."

"But you're not!" I called hotly. "You're different, yes, but not abnormal. People who say such things about you are just ignorants. If I hear someone make one such comment, I'll… I'll hit them!"

"I love you, silly boy," he stated, shaking his head. The smile had returned to his face. "I well and truly love you."

I didn't give a verbal reply, but wrapped my arms around his waist, and we shared a long kiss.

"If someone saw us doing this, they'd hit _me_," he remarked after a few moments.

"Exactly," I muttered. I felt as if my heart, which had been so light before, had been punctured, making all the joy pour out. "Why would they do that? What's wrong about two men kissing each other? Our love is just as real and wonderful as theirs. Why can't they just accept it?"

"You just said it yourself," Erik reminded me. "We're different."

"How can you take this so lightly?" I wanted to know miserably. "Doesn't it make you feel awful?"

"I've been different for all my life," he replied. "One more aspect of being different hardly matters. It's not like that for you, of course." He gave me a sympathetic smile.

"When I sat together with my brother and the others and they were talking about how disgusting sodomy is, I felt so lonely, as if I were the only person in the world who is in that situation," I admitted in a low voice.

"You're not," Erik said, suddenly looking almost cheerful. He pulled out his pocket watch, threw a brief glance at it and nodded. "Just the right time," he muttered to himself. "Come with me. There's something I'd like to show you."


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

**Author's note:** Please note that this chapter is the first one for a while that deserves its rating because of the sexual content. It contains anal sex (in a non-explicit way) and voyeurism. So don't say I haven't warned you!

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Erik didn't wait for any kind of reaction from me, but simply seized my hand and dragged me to the mirror. He opened it quickly, so quickly that I wouldn't have noticed him touch the switch if I hadn't known about its existence. It was only when he pulled me down the passageway that I overcame my surprise enough to ask:

"Where are we going? Down to your lair? And what do you want to show me?".

"No, we're not going to my lair… yet," he replied with a little chuckle. "We're going to… oh, I won't tell you. I won't spoil the surprise. You'll like it."

I had to take his word for it. Even if I had wanted to leave, I couldn't have done so, for he held my hand tightly. Of course I didn't mind. He wasn't wearing gloves, and his hand was pleasantly cold in mine.

I didn't know where he was leading me, but I could at least tell that we were not going downwards, like we had done on the way to his lair. We were staying on the same level, which made me assume that whatever he wanted to show me was not in the cellars.

Neither of us spoke. Erik merely chuckled every now and then. I couldn't help thinking that he only was this cheerful because he had found an easy way to end the conversation I had forced upon him. I swore to myself that if my suspicion turned out to be correct, I'd start the conversation again immediately and wouldn't let him wriggle his way out of it again.

After a few minutes, Erik came to a halt in front of what looked like a large window. The main difference was that an ordinary window showed a part of the outside world, whereas this one was looking into a room. At once I recognised it as a dressing room. It clearly belonged to a man, for I saw various pieces of clothing for men, including the thin trousers male dancers wore on stage as well as several pairs of dancing shoes.

"Why can we look into that room?" I asked. "Who does it belong to? And why have you brought me here?"

"So many questions for such a young man," he remarked teasingly. His eyes were shining in the light of the torches burning on either side of the passageway. "Let me start with the first one: This room has a mirror similar to the one in Christine's dressing room because I used to teach her here when she was still living in a dormitory with several other girls. It stood empty for a while, and when they needed an additional room for a new dancer about a year ago, they took this one. I didn't mind, for Christine already had her own room by then. And we're here because…" He gave another chuckle. "Well, you shall find out soon."

Involuntarily my gaze was drawn to the door, since I knew that if something should happened, someone had to come in first. Just a few moments later, the door was pushed open and two men entered the room, giggling and pushing each other like little children. To my surprise, I recognised one of them.

"That's Pierre Landoir," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "He's the new leading tenor. Christine sang with him a few times before she grew too ill to attend the rehearsals."

Pushing the thought of Christine out of my mind for the moment, I watched Pierre slip out of his shoes and open the top buttons of his tight-fitting shirt. He acted as if it were his dressing room, although it clearly wasn't.

"You wouldn't believe how glad I am every time I can take off that wretched shirt," he told his companion with a groan, opening more buttons and revealing a rather hairy chest. "I don't know what possessed them to put me into a shirt that tight. I can hardly breathe, let alone sing in it."

"A woman's revenge, I suppose," the other man commented, grinning. "The seamstress heard so many complaints of the female singers about their corsets that she thought it amusing to make that shirt for you."

Pierre made a dismissive gesture.

"Let's not talk about it anymore, or I'll lose my good mood. Do you happened to have anything nice to drink, Jean-Paul?"

I used the time while the man called Jean-Paul opened a cabinet and took out two glasses and a bottle to ask Erik a question.

"Who's the other man?" I wanted to know. "Does he work at the opera as well? I think I've seen him somewhere."

"His name is Jean-Paul Grenderaux," he replied. "Of course you've seen him. He's one of the best male dancers the opera ever had… and one of the most handsome. All the ballet rats are in love with him."

I could see why. Jean-Paul was indeed a very good-looking man, with his dark blue eyes and the long white-blond hair. Walking back to the sofa on which Pierre had settled down, he gave him a dazzling smile, showing two rows of perfectly white teeth.

"Of course, Pierre Landoir has his admirers as well," Erik went on. "The decision which one to fall in love with must be very hard for the chorus girls. Fortunately most of them don't mind being in love with two men at the same time."

It was true that Pierre was handsome as well. His complexion as well as his hair was darker than his companion's, but his teeth were just as white and his smile just as wide. The image of a dozen or so chorus girls trying to make up their minds who to fall in love with made me grin.

"Jealous, Erik?" I couldn't help asking. "Would you rather have the girls fall in love with you?"

"But yes," he said dryly. "I couldn't imagine anything more exciting than having a group of stupid girls swoon with delight every time they see me."

"I wouldn't like that," I told him seriously. "You belong to me, and to me only." We shared a long, loving kiss.

By the time we looked back into the room, Jean-Paul was filling the glasses for the second time.

"They could have any girl they want at the opera," Erik stated. "And still they spend the time after every performance together. Can you guess why?"

"They like the peace?" I replied uncertainly, thinking of the chorus girls whose main way of expressing themselves seemed to be pointless giggling.

"That is one of the reasons, yes," he agreed. "But there is another one, which is much more important. Can't you see it?"

His question making me suspicious, I watched the two men more attentively than before. They seemed to be very close friends, for they were completely relaxed in each other's company. They were chatting merrily about the performance, while Jean-Paul was massaging his feet and Pierre was scratching his chest absent-mindedly. They were friends, that much was certain. Still I couldn't help feeling that there was something else, something about the way they looked at each other, something in the way their fingers met every now and then.

"They're in love," I breathed, amazed about the discovery. "They're in love."

"Indeed," Erik said, nodding. "The two most desirable men at the opera – except for the one standing next to me – and they're in love with each other. This is what they call the irony of life."

"They're so comfortable around each other," I muttered, watching Pierre twirl a strand of Jean-Paul's long hair around his finger and make an admiring comment about its softness. "How long are they… you know… a couple?"

"For about three months, I'd say," Erik told me. "Pierre came here shortly after M.Piangi's death, and the attraction between Jean-Paul and him was there right from the start… as far as I can tell. You can probably understand that I wasn't too interested in other people's lives at that time."

I nodded, but didn't say anything. I could only guess how miserable Erik had been after Christine had left the opera with me. Giving him a warm smile, I placed a hand on his arm, just to show him that I wasn't indifferent to his fate.

We continued watching the men in the room. By now, even the most stupid person in Paris could have easily guessed that they were in love, for they had started kissing.

It was strange, but I had never imagined two men kissing without imagining me being one of them. Merely watching it, watching their lips meet and their tongues move into and out of each other's mouths, was very exciting. A small moan escaped my lips.

"I take it that you like what you see," Erik stated.

"Very much," I said, sounding a little breathless.

The men in the room certainly were breathless as well as they broke apart.

"I love this shirt," Jean-Paul muttered, moving a finger down the line of buttons that were still closed. "Every time I see you wear it on stage, I want to devour you whole."

"I doubt the audience would like it," Pierre argued. "But you could always do it now."

"Oh, all in due time," Jean-Paul assured him, a hungry expression on his face. I knew that if Erik looked like that, he was most definitely up to something.

The first thing Jean-Paul was up to was rather logical: He opened the remaining buttons on Pierre's shirt. Unlike me, he didn't seem to have any problems with it. Perhaps it was simply a matter of practice. When the shirt was open and discarded, I saw that Pierre's chest was not only hairy, but also muscular and looked very nice. It was clear that Jean-Paul was of the same opinion, for he didn't waste any time, but attacked a rosy nipple with his tongue at once.

The unmistakable feeling of lips caressing the side of my neck made me jump slightly.

"Go on watching them," Erik murmured, his breath tickling my skin. "Let me do the rest." The offer was too good to refuse, so I didn't even try. I merely tilted my head a little to the side to allow him a better access and looked into the room again.

Jean-Paul had taken off his shirt as well now, and the two men were kissing again. I soon realised that watching them was a thousand times better with Erik kissing me. He really seemed to be serious about not wanting to disturb me, for he avoided my face, lest he obstructed my view. Yet his lips and tongue also felt wonderful on my neck and along my collarbone as he deftly opened the top buttons of my shirt.

Before long, Jean-Paul's fingers made their way down to the other man's trousers.

"Impatient little dancer," Pierre scolded him gently.

"Well, I had to endure hours of watching you strut around in that tight shirt," Jean-Paul argued. "It was very hard to focus on dancing. So I can at least expect things to move quickly when we're alone, can't I?"

"And you think that you're the only one who suffered during the performance?" Pierre asked. "Those tight trousers – every inch of your lovely legs is clearly visible in them… let alone certain other inches of your anatomy."

His hands wandered downwards as well. I couldn't see what exactly they were doing, yet the sound of the other man inhaling sharply gave me a rather good idea. As far as I could tell, they were massaging each other's private parts through their trousers.

Feeling myself grow hard, I gave a moan of longing. Erik, who seemed to attend to my every need today, cupped my length through the fabric of my trousers.

"Oh," I made, my hips jerking forwards.

"Pierre is wrong," he muttered, his lips at my throat. "An impatient little dancer is nothing compared to my impatient little Vicomte."

I wanted to say something, but just another moan left my mouth as he started stroking me. So I returned my attention to what was going on in the room.

The rest of the men's clothes had vanished. They had obviously undressed very quickly, and I couldn't help thinking that Jean-Paul was not the only one impatient. I was rather impressed with what I saw of their bodies. Their faces clearly weren't the only handsome parts they had. If that was the effect singing and dancing had on a man's body, I should definitely think about a career on the stage.

At the moment, Jean-Paul was rummaging in the drawer of a small table next to the sofa. It was admirable how comfortable he seemed in the other man's presence. He even wriggled his backside at him playfully.

"Don't give me the wrong kind of ideas, love," Pierre growled, his eyes even darker with lust. He was slowly stroking himself while he waited.

After a few moments Jean-Paul turned around to his companion again, holding a bottle in his hand. It was filled with a liquid the colour of which reminded me of oil. Taking a long look at it while the man let a handful of it pour into his palm, I saw that the consistency was different, almost like honey. It made his hands all slippery as he coated his manhood with it.

Slippery? Suddenly I understood what all those preparations were about. The liquid had to be like the one Erik had told me about, the one used to make certain activities less painful for men. Realising that this was what I was about to see, I gave a surprised little gasp.

"Have you finally understood what they'll do?" Erik asked. He didn't sound teasing, but excited and a little breathless. He had stopped kissing me for the moment, yet his hand was still stroking the bulge in my trousers.

I nodded, gulping.

"But we shouldn't watch it," I whispered. "It's too… private."

"Well, you're free to go," he said, grinning. "I'll meet you later." He could afford the grin, for he knew as well as I did that I wouldn't leave, not now that I had seen that much. This was my one chance to watch two men make love, and I'd surely be able to learn a lot. I didn't seriously believe that I was only staying for educational reasons, but it was as good an excuse as any. Erik's grin grew wider as I sighed and shook my head.

I held my breath as I watched Jean-Paul prepare his companion, who had turned around and was on all fours on the sofa by now. Involuntarily the muscles in my backside contracted. I simply couldn't imagine that this was in any way pleasant. Yet it seemed to be pleasant for Pierre, for after a few sharp intakes of breath, he relaxed visibly. Once he even gave a loud moan that clearly had nothing to do with pain.

"Jean-Paul hit his prostate," Erik informed me. "It's supposed to make things very pleasant for the man who is… well, on the receiving end, so to speak."

The hand that wasn't busy stroking me wandered down to my backside. My buttocks clenched.

"You don't have to worry," he assured me in a gentle voice. "I have no intention to take you here and now. We'll only do it when we'll both be ready." He gave my behind a little pat before taking his hand away. He hadn't sounded like himself at all, so I threw him a suspicious glance. Yet he looked at me with so much affection in his eyes that I couldn't have possibly distrusted him.

I watched him as his hands opened the buttons of my trousers.

"We can't have you come in there," he explained. "Imagine what a mess it would be."

I could only nod. I wished we could have been as naked as the two men inside the room, but I also understood that it wouldn't have been possible here in the passageway.

Letting my gaze drift sideways, I noticed that my manhood, which Erik had just freed from my trousers cautiously, was not the only one in need of attention. Yet as my hand went to the visible bulge in his trousers, he stopped it in mid-air.

"Why can't you just go on enjoying what you see?" Erik muttered. "It's like a present for you, Raoul, like a special performance at the opera. Imagine what a chaos there would be on stage if people from the auditorium suddenly decided that they wanted to participate. It's very friendly of you, but I'm more than capable of… taking matters into my own hands."

Unceremoniously, he opened his trousers and took out his manhood, which was just as hard as mine. I was fascinated by his daring. If I had been in his position, I'd have rather come in my trousers than act that boldly. Yet when he wrapped one hand around each of our members and started moving them in a slow rhythm, I didn't think about such things anymore.

"Oh no!" Erik exclaimed softly after a few moments. "We missed it."

Looking up, I realised I had almost forgotten that we had been watching someone else. Being involved oneself was so much better. Yet as I glanced into the room again, having been made curious by Erik, I knew at once what he was talking about.

Jean-Paul was already kneeling behind Pierre, holding onto his hips and thrusting into him. We had missed that one crucial moment. But then, as much as I'd have liked to see it, I couldn't find it in myself to care too much. It was hard to be angry or disappointed about something while the man I loved was caressing my manhood in such a delicious way. Erik adapted his rhythm to the one in which Jean-Paul was moving and stroking Pierre's member, and soon all four of us were moaning and gasping for breath.

With the additional stimulation of watching two men doing what I'd be doing with Erik one day, it was only natural that I didn't last long. Erik urged me on further by skillfully stroking me. He already knew exactly what I liked. So I was the first to come. I let waves of pure bliss wash over me, while waves of something rather different poured over Erik's hand and onto the floor.

I felt weak, yet not too weak to kiss Erik's cheek gently as he found his release, with a small cry of my name. If it was possible, I loved him even more for coming with my name on his lips, even as we were watching someone else.

When we had recovered enough to look at the men again, I saw that they were finished as well and were half sitting, half lying on the sofa, in a sweaty mass of tangled limbs. Jean-Paul had pulled Pierre against him and was holding him tight. Their chests heaving in unison and their eyes glowing, they looked closer and happier than ever.

"Is that all you wanted to show me?" I asked Erik as he cleaned us with a handkerchief and tucked us back into our trousers. "Two men making love? Please don't think me ungrateful. I truly enjoyed it, but I don't understand what it has to do with me feeling lonely and the people who think we belong in hell…"

"Oh, this was just the first act," Erik said airly. "You'll have your questions answered soon." Then he cleared his throat. "Good evening, Messieurs!" he called loudly.


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

The two men reacted exactly the way I'd have done it in their situation: They shrieked and looked around frantically to find something to cover themselves with, holding their hands over their private parts. Since their clothes lay on the floor all around them and it would have taken them minutes to put them on, Jean-Paul, who seemed to be the calmer one of the two, seized a blanket from one side of the sofa and threw it over their laps.

Sitting next to each other, they bore a strange resemblance to an elderly couple, sitting with a blanket over their knees to keep themselves warm. The main differences were the bare chests, the flushed cheeks and the fact that they were both male.

"Who's there?" Pierre called out, his voice trembling slightly. His gaze darted from the door, which would have been the obvious source of any disturbance, to the opposite wall, where the mirror was located. Even though I knew he couldn't see me and only looked into the direction Erik's voice had come from, I felt the irrational urge to jump behind Erik and hide. Only the thought of what my beloved would have said if I had done so held me back.

"There's no need to ask that question," Jean-Paul told his companion in a resigned voice. "It's the Opera Ghost. You must have heard of him. The ballets rats talk about him all the time."

"When they see me, all the girls talk about is trying to find out whether the rest of my body is as hairy as my face," Pierre gave back pleasantly, scratching the stubble on his chin. I had to clap my hand over my mouth to keep me from bursting into laughter.

Jean-Paul gave a little cough, which seemed to remind the other man of the situation they were in.

"I thought he had left the opera after – " he began, only to be interrupted by Erik.

"I have not come here to discuss my past with you," he cut across him.

"Why have you come here then?" Jean-Paul challenged him. "To… watch us?"

"Yes," Erik replied, once more shocking me with his honesty. "And quite a nice performance it was. Very… passionate." The two men exchanged a glance, obviously torn between being proud and irritated. "But I have not started this conversation in order to flatter you," Erik went on. "There are some things I'd like to know."

"What things?" Pierre uttered the question that was on my mind as well. What was Erik up to?

"Do you sometimes feel inferior to others because you prefer men to women?" Erik asked in an airy voice, as if he were talking about the weather.

Pierre and Jean-Paul looked utterly confused, but I understood my beloved's intention at last. He wanted to give me the chance to hear about men who were like us, to hear how they were coping with their fate.

"Why do you want to know that?" Jean-Paul asked suspiciously.

"I'm interested in all aspects of human life," Erik replied mysteriously. "And it would be best for you to just answer my question, plain and honest. The sooner you do so, the sooner you'll be finished. Think about all the other nice things you could still do tonight."

"All right," Pierre muttered, shrugging. "What was the question again?"

"Do you sometimes feel inferior to other people?" Erik repeated. He could be very patient if things were going the way he wanted them to.

The men looked at each other, as if silently discussing who should begin.

"I used to feel inferior, yes," Pierre said after a few moments. "I used to wonder why I couldn't be like everyone else. Other men kept congratulating me because I sang opposite the most beautiful women and asked whether I had also got to know them privately, but I didn't develop any kind of romantic feelings for those women, no matter how hard I tried. The only times I got… erm, excited was when I had scenes with an older baritone. He had the most amazing voice." He gave a dreamy sigh before pulling himself together and going on matter-of-factly: "Well, of course I never told him about my feelings, and a few weeks after I had first discovered them, I came here…".

"… and met me," Jean-Paul finished his sentence softly, looking deep into his companion's eyes. I could almost feel the love pulsing between them.

"And met you, yes," Pierre agreed. "And suddenly everything made sense. My whole life made sense, all the waiting made sense, all the lonely hours made sense. I had not been alone at all. I had only saved myself for the right person."

I could hardly suppress a sigh. It sounded so romantic.

"I never felt inferior," Jean-Paul said flatly. "On the contrary: I thought everyone else was inferior, for they couldn't amuse themselves the way I did. You wouldn't believe how much passion is slumbering in most men, only waiting to be awakened by someone bold enough. And I did a lot of awakening." He smiled reminiscently. Then, catching sight of the frown on Pierre's face, he added: "But that's all over now. And it feels much better today. I did have a lot of men, and I did enjoy myself, but something was always missing: I didn't love any of them, and they didn't love me either. And now… now I'm still feeling superior, but for a different reason: How man other people can say that they have found someone they truly love?".

Erik and I looked at each other.

"I can," we both whispered in unison, and we both knew that we were not talking about Christine, but about each other. Our lips met in a tender kiss, and I had to fight back the lump of emotion swelling in my chest. I knew exactly what Jean-Paul was referring to: I loved Erik so much, and knowing that he loved me as well had to be the best feeling in the world. It was as if I were floating a few inches above the floor.

When we stopped kissing and looked into the room again, I saw that the two men had seized the time for a little display of affection as well. They were kissing passionately. It was apparent that they were growing more comfortable in our – or rather, Erik's – presence, for even when they broke apart, Jean-Paul kept his arm around Pierre's shoulders.

"Is there anything else you want to know?" he asked, in a much friendlier voice than before.

"Yes, there is," Erik replied. "How do you deal with people who think your way of living is despicable?"

Pierre inhaled sharply, but Jean-Paul merely shrugged.

"I try to avoid them," he answered simply. "Some people at the opera know about us, and they don't care, as long as we're doing our work properly. Most people don't know it. We don't walk around holding hands, but if someone was to ask us directly, we'd probably tell them."

"I believe that this topic is handled in a rather generous way at the opera, compared to other places," Erik said.

The men nodded.

"In my experience, singers and dancers in general have more liberties than other people," Pierre told him. "They're said to be eccentric anyway. People are more tolerant towards them, no matter whether they have a different pair of shoes for every day of the year, wear far too much make-up or sleep with members of their own gender."

"But that doesn't mean that everyone should know about us," Jean-Paul disagreed with his companion. "The patrons, for instance, must never find out. Most of them are very conservative. Besides, it would ruin their wives' illusions. If they no longer want to come to the opera to see us and dream about what could be, their husbands might consider stopping their financial support." He rolled his eyes. "At least that is what M.Firmin told me in unmistakable words one evening a couple of months ago, after seeing me kiss a stagehand."

"What about their families?" I whispered into Erik's ear. As much as I enjoyed listening to their experiences at the opera, I was far more interested in finding a solution to my own problem.

"Do your families know about your… preferences?" Erik asked them.

"No," Pierre replied quickly, looking shocked. "Of course not. I could never tell them. They expect me to marry a nice girl one day…"

If I had been able to pat his shoulder sympathetically, I'd have done so. His story sounded very familiar to me. I wondered whether he also had two older sisters.

"So you lie to them," Erik stated matter-of-factly.

"Not exactly," the singer muttered. "I just don't tell them the truth. They live in the south of France, you know, in a village near Cannes, and we hardly ever see each other. So when I write a letter to them, I just leave out the topic of my love life. They probably think I work too much to have time for anything else."

"_My_ parents know I'm interested in men," Jean-Paul informed us in a flat voice. "They accepted it more readily than I could have hoped. Well, after the shock that their son became something as unmanly as a dancer, they were used to expecting the worst from me." He gave a hollow laugh. "But of course it's a decision everyone has to make for themselves," he went on with a pointed glance at his companion. "It's also a matter of how strong someone's love is. Why bother to shock one's parents if it'll all be over in a few weeks' time anyway?"

"Oh, Jean-Paul, my darling, please don't say something like that," Pierre pleaded, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. "You mustn't think that I don't love you. It's not true. Of course I love you. It's just…" He sighed. "Oh, we've talked about all this. Perhaps I will tell my parents about us one day… just not now. But that doesn't make my feelings for you any less wonderful. I'd never want to be with anyone but you."

I could see how hard Jean-Paul tried to remain angry, but it didn't work. A smile lit up his handsome face.

"Yes, we've talked about it," he said. "And I agreed that you can tell them at whichever time you consider appropriate. It's just hard to accept sometimes…"

They exchanged a loving glance, and I felt guilty for having brought up a topic that would have almost made them argue. They looked so happy together. I couldn't know it for certain, but I hoped that Erik and I looked just as happy, perhaps even happier.

"Anything else?" Pierre asked. "If not, would you mind leaving us alone now? I feel that I have something to make up to my dear Jean-Paul." He let his hand glide under the blanket, and the other man shuddered.

Erik looked at me, and I shook my head. I had heard enough for the moment, and I certainly didn't want to disturb the men doing whatever they were about to do.

"That should be all, Messieurs," he said. "You've been very helpful."

"Can I ask _you_ a question now?" Jean-Paul exclaimed hastily. "Why do you really want to know all those things? Have you found yourself a… a little friend as well?"

I threw the man an indignant glance, although he couldn't see it. I was _not_ little.

Erik seemed to be striken temporarily mute by the boldness of the question, so Jean-Paul went on with his idea.

"Who could it be, I wonder?" he mused aloud. "Perhaps it's the Vicomte de Chagny!"

I gasped in shock, but the sound was drowned quickly when both men burst into laughter.

"Isn't he the Opera Ghost's mortal enemy?" Pierre asked, giggling. "The one who wanted to see him dead?"

"Exactly," Jean-Paul replied, shaking with laughter so badly that he almost fell off the sofa. He had to hold on to the other man. "Wouldn't that be wonderfully absurd?"

"Well, such things have been known to happen," Pierre argued, but it was clear that he was not serious.

"Yes, but we're not in a Shakespearean comedy," his companion gave back. "Or was my guess correct after all, M. le Fantome?"

"That is none of your business," Erik said in a dignified voice. "Good evening, Messieurs."

With these words he pulled me away from the mirror and out of the men's earshot. I threw him a worried glance. Had their laughter insulted him? Yet to my surprise, he was smiling.

"Did you hear him?" he asked. "Our love is ´wonderfully absurd´. We could probably wander around in the opera holding hands, and no one would suspect anything because it's too absurd."

"They'd probably think you had abducted me," I agreed, smiling as well.

Erik's eyes twinkled. The next moment, he had picked me up and thrown me over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I wanted to know as I was hanging upside-down, feeling the blood stream into my head, which was dangling around uselessly in the height of his lower back.

"I'm abducting you," Erik replied pleasantly, holding on to my legs. "And I won't let you go until I'm finished with you… Vicomte."

I wondered why in all the years of hearing this title, it had never made me grow hard before.


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

The journey down to Erik's lair was longer than I remembered. But then, the last time I had been walking down the corridors myself rather than being carried upside-down. At the beginning, it had been nice not to use my feet, but simply hang there, inhaling his masculine scent. Yet the longer he walked, the more uncomfortable I grew. The blood was pounding in my ears, and my hands were growing numb. Every now and then, Erik had to jump a little to avoid tripping over a stone, and his bony shoulder dug painfully into the pit of my stomach.

No, something had to be changed, and it had to be changed quickly, before I'd be sick all down his back. However, my wish to continue the bizzarre game he had started was just as strong as the urge to get my feet onto the ground again. So whatever I did, it had to be in character.

"I demand that you put me down this instant," I called, trying my best to sound commanding, which was not easy in my situation.

"No," Erik gave back simply. "I'll put you down when I want to do it, not a moment sooner. I'm not one of your servants, Vicomte. You cannot tell me what to do. On the contrary: Tonight, I'll show you who's the stronger man of us."

Excitement rushed through my body, thankfully driving away the nausea. I decided that I could remain in this position a little longer.

"You're not a man at all," I snarled. "You're a… a thing!"

For a moment, I was sure that I had gone too far. Yet Erik merely chuckled.

"I'm much more of a man than you are," he said casually. "And I intend to show you."

My heartbeat sped up at his words. I wondered what he had in store for me.

My musing was interrupted abruptly when he heaved me off his shoudler and let me slump to the ground. I landed on my backside with a little thud and suppressed a groan of pain. I was about to open my mouth and ask whether he hadn't been able to put me down a little more gently when I understood why he hadn't been able to do so. He hated me, or rather, he hated the person I had once been. So why should he want to make me treat me with care?

I came to my feet, rubbing my bottom as discreetly as possible, trying to ignore the sneer on Erik's face.

"Didn't I just hear you say that you wouldn't put me down?" I asked.

"Wrong, Vicomte," he corrected me. "I said I'd put you down when I want to. And now I want to. I can do without all that weight on my shoulder while I'm rowing."

It was only then that I glanced over my shoulder and saw that we had indeed reached the underground lake. I hadn't known that we had already come that far. It was difficult to estimate time while hanging upside-down.

The lake was a fascinating sight. Its smooth surface looked like black ice, completely undisturbed by wind or rain like a normal lake. I looked at it for a while before I remembered who I was at the moment. My former self would have surely not found the lake remotely interesting. I tried to recall the feelings I had had when I had first seen it. It had merely been one of the Phantom's many traps. I had been terrified of jumping into it, and still I had done so.

"Where are you taking me?" I exclaimed, even though I knew the answer perfectly well.

"I'm taking you to my home," he replied. "To the place where we'll enjoy ourselves."

His smile widened, and I felt another rush of excitement shoot directly into my loins. But of course I couldn't show which effect his words had on me.

"And what if I refuse to come with you?" I asked defiantly. "What should keep me from simply running away?"

"I shall do so," he gave back pleasantly. "My Punjab Lasso would be wrapped around that beautiful neck of yours before you could make one step. And even if I wouldn't catch you right away… where would you go? There are hundreds of passageways down here, thousands of chances to lose your way. And in the end, I would find you. I'd always find you."

I didn't doubt his words for a moment. I had lost my way in his world once, and he had found me without problems. I didn't feel like walking away from him again. Still, I pretended to look miserable on hearing such news.

"Sooner or later, I will escape," I announced grimly. "You cannot keep me here forever."

"Oh, I have no intention of doing so, my dear Vicomte," he assured me. "Forever is a very long time. No, once I'll be finished with you, I'll bring you back to the surface. But let us not stand here and prattle any longer. Here's the boat. Get in."

I made sure to appear very reluctant to enter the boat. Erik had to come after me and threaten me a little more with his presence. I allowed myself a moment of pressing my body against his, and I could hardly suppress a moan of longing as I felt the hint of an erection at my hip. He was clearly enjoying this little game just as much as I did, maybe even more.

His hands came to rest on my shoulders, and I tilted my head to the side. His face was so close to mine that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. I held my breath, waiting for him to kiss me. In the next moment, however, he had pushed me forwards roughly, making my romantic ideas disappear. There would be no kissing. Not yet.

I stumbled and almost tripped over my own feet. I could just hold onto the pole the boat was tied to, or I'd have landed head first in the water. The thought made me shudder.

An amused chuckle drifted past my ears.

"Are you ready to get in now?" Erik asked, stepping forwards to untie the knots in the rope. "Or do you need any more… persuasion?" He caressed the rope almost lovingly, looking into my eyes.

Sensing that more reluctance would either earn me a bath in the lake or else make him tie my up, I got into the boat at last and sat down. Erik entered it behind me and pushed us away from the shore. It was similar to our first journey over the lake, and yet very different. This time, I wasn't allowed to lean against his legs comfortably. Instead, I sat bolt upright, careful not to make any physical contact between him and me.

While the boat was gliding over the water, disturbing the surface only momentarily, I was torn between giddy excitement at the thought of the pleasures that lay ahead of us and unease when I recalled that the man I was playing wasn't supposed to enjoy himself. With those thoughts, the time passed very quickly.

When we reached the other shore, I thought the moment for another small rebellion had come.

"What if I don't want to leave the boat?" I asked, holding onto the wooden bench to underline my words.

Erik jumped onto the shore and tied the boat to the pole.

"If you don't want to come, you'll stay where you are," he said, without as much as looking at me. He didn't seem to take my rebellion very seriously. "I'm sure it'll be very cimfortable for you, especially after the first few hours. Do you have any idea how cold it can get down here? Well, you're about to find out." With these words, he started to make his way to the house.

I made up my mind quickly, party because I didn't want the game to end in such an unsatisfactory way, partly because I was already beginning to feel cold without him.

"I'm coming with you," I said. "But – "

The rest of my sentence was swallowed by a gasp. Fast as lightning, Erik had returned to my side and seized my wrists, holding them together behind my back.

"But I said I'd come," I protested, far more surprised than angry. "Why do you have to do this?"

"You're my prisoner, Vicomte," he replied. "I'm just making sure you don't forget it."

As me marched me to the house, I felt the tell-tale bulge in his trousers more than once. He was really enjoying our game. He didn't even let go of me completely to open the door, but approached it sideways, holding me with one hand while the other one pushed down the door handle.

The house was just the way I remembered it. Yet instead of taking off my coat and walking to the sitting room for a nice cup of tea, I was pushed past doors to the very end of the corridor. I had been to Erik's home more than once, but I had no idea where the door we were standing in front of now may lead. It certainly didn't belong to a room I had ever been in.

"What is this room?" I wanted to know, feeling a tingle of anxiety.

"Why, Vicomte, I thought that was obvious," Erik gave back sweetly, opening the door an inch or two. "It's the place where I'm taking all my prisoners: my torture chamber."

I inhaled sharply. He couldn't be serious… or could he?


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

**Author's note:** I'd just like to remind you that even though my description of the torture chamber is like in Leroux' book, this story is still mainly based on the ALW stage show. So Raoul has never been inside the torture chamber before.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Erik either didn't realise that my mounting panic was real or he didn't care. I strongly suspected the former. His eyes were shining with anticipation, and his hands were shaking slightly as he opened the door completely. I actually tried to hold onto the door frame, but he loosened my grip with ease and pushed me into the room.

For a moment, I was still able to delude myself that maybe he hadn't led me into the torture chamber after all, that maybe he had only been making a joke. This dark and seemingly completely empty room I had just staggered into bore no resemblance to the dreadful place I had heard about. Who knew whether those storied had been true? Chorus girls and stage hands weren't the most reliable sources.

My heartbeat had just slowed down a little, when the room was filled with a sudden, dazzlingly bright light. I brought a hand up to my face to shield my eyes from the brightness. After the initial darkness, it felt as if the sun were shining directly into the room. It took me one or two minutes and a lot of nervous blinking till I was able to see more than light. Yet once I had realised what I was looking at, I instantly wished I could have gone back to the state I had been in before.

I was standing in a strange room. Instead of four corners like normal rooms, it had six of them. Yet although that was rather peculiar, it was not the shape of the room which astonished me most.

There were trees growing in the room. I knew it was not possible for trees to grow out of a smooth floor without as much as a little earth in sight, but they did. They surrounded me, huge trees with greyish trunks and green leaves. Had I perhaps stepped into a forest without realising it? No, I couldn't have done so. But I saw the trees all around me…

I walked forwards a few steps, uncertain what to do. Tentatively, I stretched out a hand for the nearest branch. Yet mysteriously, my hand only encountered a smooth material of some kind. I tried again, more firmly this time, rapping the material with my fingers. I grew angry. Why couldn't I touch the trees? One could easily touch the trees in every forest, so why wasn't it possible in this one? Was the tree mocking me, hiding behind the smooth material? I'd show it…

"Raoul, stop!" someone yelled.

Was it one of the other trees, trying to protect its friend? I was pulled back roughly by the shoulders and turned around. The trees were trying to get me, to drag me behind the smooth substance into their strange forest. I was to become one of them… I struggled, desperate to free myself from the branches' grip, but they didn't let go.

Then I was pressed forcefully against something that wasn't hard and cold and smooth, but soft and warm. Strong branches… no, strong arms were holding me close. And suddenly, there was music in the air. A gentle, soothing melody filled the room. It seemed to glide into me with every breath I took, caressing both my body and my soul.

Very slowly, I lifted my head and looked up. Erik was there, pressing me against his chest. Erik was gazing down at me with those amazing golden eyes. They were shining even more than they usually did, and I realised that they were filled with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Raoul," he whispered, ending the song. "So sorry… I didn't mean for this to happen, I swear it. I just forgot what could happen. I was so delighted by my idea to bring you here, to… to love you here… that I forgot the lights would be switched on automatically once we'd be inside. It's a mechanism in the door, you see. When I realised what was happening to you, I tried to undo it at once, but I couldn't find the switch right away. I haven't been in here in months…" His voice trailed off as he gave a dry sob.

Even if he had been talking slowly and clearly, not in a feverish whisper, I doubted that I'd have understood him. His words didn't make any sense. What did the light have to do with the forest?

"You saved me," I mumbled weakly. "From those trees… They would have tried to grab me, wouldn't they?"

"But no!" he assured me, looking shocked. "No, no, no. They couldn't have attacked you. They're not real."

"But I saw them," I argued, the memory making me shudder. I was very glad that at the moment, I could see nothing but Erik. "I saw them with my own eyes. They are right there, behind those strange walls. What are they made of – glass? And how could the trees grow behind them?"

Instead of giving a verbal reply, Erik let go of me and stepped aside.

Now that he was no longer standing in front of me, I noticed that the bright light had vanished. A soft glow came from a candlestick on the floor, but apart from that, it was quite dark again. And the trees…

"They're gone," I breathed. "They're all gone. How did you do that? How did you make them disappear?"

"They were never there in the first place," he explained. "It was nothing but an illusion. Look!"

He pointed at something behind me. I turned around quickly and let out a gasp. One of the trees was still there. It looked oddly out of place without its companions, and somehow, that fact made it less intimidating.

"Can I touch it?" I asked, not sure whether I wanted the answer to be yes or no.

"Of course," Erik replied readily. "Touching something can take away the fear." I knew that he was refering to his face, of course. The main difference was that his face had never tried to attack me. But then, the trees hadn't tried to do so either… or had they? I was confused, but determined all the same. I'd find out the mystery of this place.

Slowly, I walked towards the tree. Something very strange was happening to it. The closer I came, the less real it looked. Why hadn't the grey colour of the trunk struck me as odd before? Why hadn't I noticed how flat the leaves were? My mounting suspicion was confirmed when I touched a branch. It was smooth and shining in the candlelight, not rough like a normal branch.

"It is made my metal," Erik said, before I could even open my mouth to ask. "The leaves are painted onto it."

"It looked so real," I muttered, now running my fingers over the trunk. "Why doesn't it look real anymore now?"

"It's a matter of the light," he told me. "Once the light is switched on, it looks much more realistic, mainly due to the fact that when all the other trees appear, the whole scene becomes so strange that one can't think straight anymore. You didn't doubt they were real trees, did you? But I can assure you they're just illusions, reflections of this one tree. You see, the walls are covered in mirrors…"

The word reminded me of something Mme.Giry had once said, months ago, when I had asked her to give me at least a little information on the Phantom. She had told me about something he had supposedly built for the Shah of Persia.

"A maze of mirrors," I breathed. "A maze of mirrors…"

"Not a maze, just a room," he corrected me softly. "But it is a room that would have driven you insane if you had stayed in here too long. The trees were only the beginning. I can also raise the temperature till it's as hot as in a tropical forest. A man trapped in here could die of thirst or kill himself because he doesn't see a reason for going on living. Years and years ago, I built a similar room, and like everything I build, it… it worked very well."

I turned around to face him.

"And why did you bring _me_ here?" I wanted to know. My voice shook slightly.

"Because I am a fool," he answered calmly. "I didn't think straight. I was so immersed in that little game of ours that I didn't pause to think about what would happen once I opened the door. In the dreams I had while you still were with Christine, I locked you – or rather, the person you used to be at that time – in here so many times. It seemed logical to take you here in our game as well. But then I saw how it affected you and…"

He seized my right wrist and pulled my hand towards him. It was only now that I noticed my fingertips were red and slightly swollen from pounding against the mirror. If I had gone on, they'd have surely started bleeding. Now I knew why I had instinctively used my left hand for exploring the metal tree. Erik brought up my hand to his lips and kissed each fingertip in turn.

"Forgive me…" he muttered. "Please, Raoul, forgive me…"

"Has anyone ever… have you ever taken… has anyone ever died in here?" I asked. The question made me feel slightly sick.

"No!" he exclaimed, still holding my hand. "Never. I've only built it for my own safety. You know how many enemies I have. But I've never tortured anyone in here, and I never will. I'll lock the door, and you'll never have to go into the room again."

He opened the door and led me through it, locking it behind me.

"Do you despise me?" he asked quietly once we were standing outside. "Now that you've seen what I'm capable of?"

´I've seen what you're capable of before´, I wanted to argue, but the words didn't leave my mouth. It was true, I knew that he was capable of murder. I had seen two of his victims with my own eyes. I had nearly _become_ one of his victims myself.

And still… I now realised that I had made a grave mistake. I had tried to talk myself into believing that all those crimes had been committed by the old Erik and that the new one, the one who loved me, would never do such things. What I had failed to understand was that the new Erik, no matter how much he had changed, still contained traces of the old Erik, and that would never be different.

But all that didn't change the fact that he loved me and I loved him. Yes, he had accidentally activated his torture chamber, but he had also saved me from it. He had held me and comforted me, and it had felt so very good. In that moment, I understood that I'd always be able to come to Erik when I'd be scared or miserable. Perhaps he'd be a little cynical about my problems, but he'd never be cruel or taunt me.

There was still much I didn't know about him, and I doubted I'd like all of it. But just now, I didn't want to judge him by what he had done. I wanted to judge him by how good he made me feel.

"I don't despise you," I told him softly. "I love you."

He stared at me, as if looking for something in my appearance to contradict my comforting words. He didn't seem to find anything, for a tentative smile spread across his face.

"I love you, too," he whispered, embracing me and kissing my lips gently. "What would you like to do now? I'll do anything you want."

I thought about his offer for a moment. I'd have liked to be held in his arms a little longer, to hear how sorry he was a few more times. But looking up at him and seeing the concern in his eyes, I realised that it would have only increased his guilty conscience. I knew there'd be a time when we'd have to talk about what had happened in that room, possibly approaching a few of the less pleasant parts of his past. Yet I didn't want to do so now. I wanted us to enjoy ourselves, and I knew just the way to ensure we'd do so.

I freed myself out of the embrace roughly.

"You know perfectly well what want," I snarled. "I want you to set me free!"

It didn't take Erik long to understand what I was up to. I was delighted to see the concern vanish from his eyes, to be replaced by the old fire.

"You will be free, Vicomte," he said coldly. "Just not now. I haven't even started with you."

He seized me by the upper arm and dragged me away, away from the torture chamber and to another room. I didn't care which one it was, as long as there wouldn't be a single tree in it.


	25. Chapter TwentyFive

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Looking around me, I saw that we had ended up in the sitting room. A fire was crackling in the fireplace, and there were several lamps lit, which gave the room a nice, warm atmosphere. I could only guess that Erik had left everything burning when he had gone to meet me, assuming he wouldn't be away for long. At first, that action struck me as careless, which was not like him at all, but then I saw that the fire was burning rather low.

Erik closed the door behind me and walked over to the fireplace, adding logs. It was good of him to do so, for I was still trembling slightly. I tried hard to concentrate on my role, but I simply couldn't forget what had just happened in the torture chamber. If Erik hadn't saved me, I'd have surely gone insane. It had been such a narrow escape…

But I had to pull myself together now. I had shown Erik very clearly that I wanted to continue our game, so I couldn't just stand there, trembling. I had to do something. The sooner I started pretending that nothing had happened, the sooner I'd forget. And I knew only too well that no sensation helped me forget anything else as effectively as feeling his lips on mine.

Yet in order to achieve that, I had to go on playing, and in my case, playing meant trying to escape. I took a few more moments to focus on what I had to feel. I was the Vicomte, trapped by my worst enemy, the infamous Phantom. If I stayed here, he'd do unspeakably terrible things with me. The mere thought of those things made blood flood my nether regions. Now I was ready.

I ran over to the door and pushed down the handle. It wasn't locked, but I pretended that it was.

"Let me out!" I called, making my voice sound angry. "Let me out at once!"

"No," Erik said simply. He turned away from the fire. I could see that his left cheek was flushed from the heat, but the mask was as white and clean as ever.

He crossed the room with a few quick strides and leaned against the door, blocking the exit. My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at him. I was afraid of drowning in those startlingly bright eyes. They were shining, not with tears, but with pure lust, giving them the appearance of molten gold. I swallowed hard. I had never seen anything that appealing.

"Afraid, are we?" he asked tauntingly, although I was sure that he knew what I was feeling, and it was not fear.

He suddenly stepped sideways and walked away from the door. I blinked stupidly, puzzled by the abrupt loss of eye contact. It was as if his golden eyes were still staring at me out of the door I was now gazing at. I pulled myself away from it and turned around as he went on:

"There is no reason to be afraid… not yet. I just want to talk to you."

"Talk?" I repeated, truly surprised. I had expected an activity far less innocent than talking. Remembering my role, I added defiantly: "Why should I want to talk to you? And what should we talk about? I doubt that a Vicomte and a madman can find a topic of conversation."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be able to think of something," he assured me smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "But first… why don't you sit down?"

He gestured at the divan and two armchairs. Since our little adventure on the divan was still fresh on my mind, I chose an armchair. I didn't want to give him the wrong kind of ideas. But then, I strongly suspected he already had the wrong kind of ideas.

Smirking, Erik sat down in the other armchair. It was only then that I noticed just how closely the two chairs were standing next to each other. If it hadn't been for the armrests between us, we could as well have sat on the divan.

"So," I said briskly. "What do you want to talk about? It has to be very important, or you wouldn't have wasted your valuable time abducting me." I tried a smirk as well, but I doubted that it looked as impressive as his.

"Yes, it is rather important," he agreed in a business-like voice. "I'd like to know why you're following me around in the opera."

"I'm following you?" I asked, taken by surprise yet again. The speed in which he was making up our story was a little too much for me. Still I tried my best to catch up with him. "Oh yes, I'm following you," I said, nodding. "I… I want to keep an eye on you. I want to know what you're up to." I gave him a triumphant smile, glad that I had had an idea that quickly.

"I don't think that's the true reason," he told me flatly. "You want to keep an eye on me, yes, but not because you think I'm up to something. You simply enjoy watching me." He dropped his business-like tone, and his voice became a whisper. "You love following me around, watching me walk, listening to my voice. You see me touch objects on my way and wonder what those fingers would feel like on you, the cool leather on your flushed skin."

Without breaking eye contact, he let his hand stroll over to my thigh, his fingers drawing patterns on my trousers. My breathing was laboured, and by now, my skin was definitely flushed, just like he had said. The fire Erik had kindled in the fireplace was nothing compared to the one he was just kindling inside me. It felt like a fever, the most pleasant fever in the world.

"You hear me speak to others…" he went on, his voice almost a drawl. "…and wonder what my voice would sound like speaking other words, words the likes of which no one has ever used in our presence before, words you've only imagined in long, lonely nights, words that would make your skin crawl with desire and fill your body with fire. And then you imagine words and touches combined, and you can hardly bear going on walking behind me, for you'd much rather pounce on me like a wild beast, fulfilling your deepest needs, your most carnal urges."

His fingers moved up to my thigh and began to stroke my manhood, which was hard and begging to be touched. I had had no idea which effect mere words could have on me. His hand was trailing my length, up and down and up and down.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" he asked softly.

"Yes," I breathed. "Oh yes…"

He took his hand away. He actually took his hand away. I stared at him, feeling as if I had to cry out in frustration. Why on earth had he stopped?

"But that's not what this is about," he said pleasantly. "It's not about your desires and needs. It's about me. You desire me, the one you've always hated, and nothing will happen until you admit it. Say it! Say that you want me!"

I tore my gaze away from his face and looked down at his lap. I saw the bulge in his trousers and could tell that he was even harder than me. It was then that I understood how badly he needed this moment of absolute power over me, and I was more than willing to give it to him.

"I want you!" I blurted out. "I want you so much!"

This time, I had done it right. I had said the right thing, and the reward was instant. Erik jumped up from his seat so quickly that his motions were blurred in front of my eyes. He seized my hands and pulled me to my feet as well, only to throw me down onto the carpet a moment later, after a heated kiss. A very distant part of my mind registered a dull pain as I landed on my back, but it was erased at once by overwhelming lust.

I could have never imagined that it was possible to want someone the way I wanted him. My whole being was focused on the man now towering over me. He was staring down at me, his arms outstretched in an imposing gesture and his mask glowing. It was a sight both frightening and arousing. My whole body was shaking with desire. I felt as if I'd explode if he didn't touch me at once.

"Come to me…" I whispered, suppressing a desperate sob. "Please…"

"And what do you want me to do with you, Vicomte?" he asked, his breath coming out hard and fast.

This time, I didn't have to think about the answer. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue.

"Everything," I replied, throwing him a pleading glance. "Anything… whatever you want…"

I didn't know whether I was speaking as the Vicomte or as myself, but I didn't think it mattered just now. Erik or the Phantom or whoever he was at the moment needed to hear that I was willing to give myself to him, that I'd let him do everything with me. And in that second, I wanted him to do everything with me. I wanted to belong to him, once and for all times.

"Whatever I want, Vicomte?" he repeated, licking his lips in a most delicious way that made me wonder whether my trousers had always been this tight. "Oh, I want so many things. I'll make you mine, Vicomte. I'll make sure that you'll never forget me."

And without further ado, he jumped on top of me. Hadn't he been talking about my wish to pounce at him like a wild beast before? I could have never been as wild as he was. He clawed at my clothes and tore off buttons, his lips meeting mine in a kiss so forceful that it took my breath away.

I had unleashed a power I could have never imagined, not only in him, but also in myself. I returned the kiss just as hungrily, sucking at his bottom lip with bruising force and not even caring that our jaws bumped against each other more than once. The pain only made the other sensations more intense. My hands were holding his head in place, lest he should dare break the kiss.

I was just about to move my right hand a little when I felt that it had got tangled in something at his head. Angry about the interruption, I brought my fingers to the front. I pulled back for a moment to free my hand… and gasped as I saw the damage I had done. What I had taken to be a strand of Erik's hair had in truth been the ribbon holding his mask in place. By tugging at it, I had not only removed the mask, but also his wig. Both had landed on my by now bare chest.

I was suddenly facing a nearly bald, ugly old man. Nothing of the imposing predator was left. With that one wrong motion, I had torn the illusion we had been building up so carefully. Erik was gazing down at me in shock, his chest heaving and falling in time with his rapid breath. He looked as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. Then he seemed to pull himself together. Stretching out his hand, he muttered, almost feverishly:

"Just give me one moment. I can fix it. I can make it all right again. Just one moment, and we'll be ready to go on."

He reached for the mask, but I caught him by the wrist.

"No," I said. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to go on like this."

"What?" he whispered, without as much as a trace of his usual eloquence. "Why?"

I felt his arm tremble under my grasp, and a rush of something much more powerful than lust shook my body. It was pure, unadulterated love.

"I don't want to go on like this because I don't want you to go on hiding," I explained softly. "This will be our first time, and I want it to happen between you and me, not between the Phantom and the Vicomte as part of a game. I did enjoy everything that we've done so far, but it has to end now. No more hiding, Erik. I want to give myself to the man I love, and that is you."

Silence followed my words. A tear made its way down his right cheek. I caught it, my tongue gliding over the twisted flesh. I no longer felt the slightest bit of revulsion. Just like the pain of being thrown to the floor had been erased by lust, any trace of fear or disgust was swallowed by love.

"You're beautiful, Erik," I whispered, meaning it. "Make love to me. Please…"


	26. Chapter TwentySix

**Author's note:** This chapter has epic proportions, so remain patient. Always bear in mind that Erik has waited for this to happen much longer than you have.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

For a moment, Erik and I stared at each other without speaking. My words still seemed to hang in the air between us.

_Make love to me… Please…_

I couldn't believe I had said it, just like that, and yet I didn't regret it. It was as if the words had been spoken by my very soul, uttering my innermost wish. I wanted it to happen with every fibre of my being.

Erik cleared his throat.

"Are you sure?" he asked, sounding slightly hoarse. "Do you know what it means?"

I gave him a smile that just happened to resemble a smirk.

"Yes, I think I know what it means," I replied in a deadly serious voice. "You've told me yourself, and I also saw Pierre and Jean-Paul do it. Yes, it's safe to assume I know the theory of how two men make love. But thank you for asking."

Erik did not smile.

"That's not what I was talking about," he pointed out unnecessarily. "Of course you know how men make love. I wasn't questioning your theoretical knowledge, especially since it was me who gave it to you in the first place. I just want to make sure that you know what it means for us. Once you've… well, once you've given yourself to me, I'll regard you as mine. And if you were to leave me then, I'd… I'd…"

His voice faltered, and he threw me a very strange glance. I wasn't sure whether he was trying to threaten me or plead with me.

"I won't leave you," I assured him softly. "I love you, Erik, and that won't change if we make love."

"What if you won't like it?" he argued. "What if I'll hurt you? What if I'll do it all wrong?"

I had rarely seen him so full of worries. It was a peculiar reversal of roles. Wasn't I usually the one who grew worried all the time, and he tried to comfort me?

"You won't do it all wrong," I answered. "Remember, you know much more about these things than I do. You've read all those books. And I… I wouldn't even notice if you did something wrong."

"Yes, but – " Erik didn't seem willing to give up yet.

"No but," I interrupted him, in a gesture so unlike me that I was surprised myself. I hadn't known that I'd dare interrupt Erik. I wasn't even afraid of being killed. The Erik now sitting in front of me didn't look like he could hurt a fly, let alone me. "I don't want to hear any more of these pointless worries, or I'll walk out of the door this minute. Surely you don't want that, do you?"

Erik gave a short laugh, and I noticed that the old fire had returned to his eyes.

"Do you really think I'd let you go?" he whispered. "Never. Now that you've promised me all that pleasure, you'll have to keep your word, or I'll become very unfriendly indeed."

"I will keep my word," I said seriously, not telling him that in my opinion, an unfriendly Erik was preferrable to a miserable Erik. "I want you. Now."

"Let's not waste any more time talking then," he said, as if I had been the one to make him wait. "Do you want to do it right here or go somewhere else?"

I only needed a moment to consider the question. The floor was nice for the things we had already done on it, but now that we had stopped anyway, we could as well move on to a decent bed, which would be much more comfortable. A bed would give us the chance to lie on a soft mattress all night and get up in the morning without our backs aching. It sounded very good indeed.

"Take me to bed," I replied. "And then… well, then you can take me."

I cringed about my terrible pun, but Erik seemed to like it.

"That's exactly what I'll do," he announced. "I'll make it a night you won't ever forget, not even if you live a hundred years."

With these words, he got up quickly and dragged me to my feet as well. I barely had time to grab the mask and the wig, which had still been lying on my chest. Looking at them uncertainly, I asked:

"What do you want to do with your mask and the wig? Shall I take them with us or leave them here?"

Erik glanced at them as well, and some of the energy he had displayed before seemed to leak out of him.

"I don't know," he muttered, his hand darting up to his face in an uncharacteristically self-conscious gesture. "What do you think?"

"You won't need them," I answered without a moment's hesitation. "I want to see you like you truly are. You don't have to hide from me anymore."

"You are a remarkable young man," he told me. He took the mask and the wig out of my hand and placed them on the table. Then he went to extinguish the fire and the lamps in the room. When he returned to me, he held a lamp in his hand.

"I'm afraid it'll be rather cold in Christi- in the other room," he warned me, smiling apologetically. "But I'm sure we'll find ways of getting warm quickly."

I nodded. Knowing Erik, I didn't doubt it.

It was indeed cold in the corridor. I felt the little hairs on my chest stand up, and the floor under my bare feet was like ice, only less slippery. It suddenly occurred to me how peculiar Erik and I had to look, having taken off clothes at random in our frenzy to get undressed during our game, then stopping to have a meaningful conversation. As a result, neither of us was wearing a shirt, shoes of socks anymore, and the buttons on my trousers were partly undone. I chuckled softly.

Erik, who was leading the way, stopped, frowning.

"What's so amusing?" he asked in a slightly suspicious voice. Despite his self-confident behaviour, I couldn't help thinking that he was still a little worried I might be laughing about him. The situation with the mask had shaken him severerly.

"I just wondered what someone would say if they saw us like this," I explained. "With half our clothes missing and our faces all flushed… We must look a real sight."

"Well, _I_ certainly do," he stressed, unsmiling. "People wouldn't even notice you. They'd be too busy running away from me, screaming in panic about the monster they had just seen."

He sighed, looking very miserable. Then he turned around again abruptly and continued his way. It was not at all the mood I wanted him to be in. But how could I change it? I had said so much in the last minutes, and none of it seemed to have been quite right. I had to stop him thinking about his face all the time. The first possible solution that came into my mind was asking him to put his mask and wig back on, if he felt so uncomfortable without them, but I'd have rather swallowed poison than made that suggestion. It would have destroyed so much between us.

There was something else I could do, though. It was a daring idea, but it would give him something far more pleasant to think about. All I needed was a little courage.

Erik was still walking to the other room, muttering to himself. He more resembled a person on their way to being executed than a man who was taking his beloved to the bedroom for a wonderful night. He didn't even notice me stopping. As quickly and quietly as I could, I took off my remaining pieces of clothing. Yes, I'd give his mind something to be busy with.

It was only when he opened the door that he realised I was no longer behind him.

"Run away as well, have you?" he asked, turning around slowly. "Or do you – ?"

In that moment, he spotted me standing there naked, and his jaw dropped.

I felt even more peculiar than before, standing around in a corridor without a stitch on, but at least I wasn't cold anymore. On the contrary, I felt extraorinarily warm.

"Will you stop having those ridiculous worries now?" I asked, trying my best to make my voice a low, seductive purr. "I want you, Erik, all of you. But if you prefer brooding, I'll have to take matters into my own hands, so to speak…"

To underline my words, I let a hand glide down my body. It never reached its destination, though. By the time it was about to get past my navel, Erik had closed the space between us, his arms wrapped around my body.

"Could you do that every time I'm being stupid?" he asked. "It certainly is most effective on me."

"You were being stupid?" I asked teasingly, glad that my method had worked. "Could you repeat that for me? I'd like to hear it again."

"Never," he replied, giving me a brief kiss on the lips. "But I'll say all kinds of other things soon. I'm sure you'll enjoy them as well."

I pressed my hips against his, delighted to feel that my erection wasn't the only one growing. Erik groaned.

"We should get you to bed soon, or I might give in to the temptation of taking you right here," he breathed, making me grow even harder.

Oh yes, that was something I enjoyed hearing. I could feel the temptation as well, but it was easy for me not to give in to it. I wanted our first time to happen in a bed instead of a corridor. So I pulled myself out of his embrace, took him by the hand and led him to the room Christine had once owned. I was very aware of my body as I walked, especially of my erection bobbing up and down with every step I took.

"What a lovely view I have," Erik muttered, gazing down at my manhood with a hungry expression on his face.

I blushed. He had looked at me like that before, but I still wasn't used to it. I turned away quickly, letting go of him, and went inside.

"It was supposed to be a compliment, you know," he told me as he followed me into the room. "You're not only loving and intelligent, but also very handsome. A rare and precious combination."

I blushed even more deeply. I'd have never believed possible that this man was capable of uttering such nice compliments… or any compliments at all, for that matter.

"Thank you," I muttered, not sure what else to say.

I looked around in the room while Erik was busy at the door. Since he had told me it would be cold, I supposed it was cold, but I didn't feel it. To me, it was even warmer than in the corridor. I suspected that I could have swum in the lake and still felt hot, as long as Erik stood at the bank, gazing at me in such an arousing way. He was better than every fire.

Long, muscular arms sneaked around my body from behind, and a hand took hold of my member. I gave a little moan. Pressing back against Erik, I felt the reason why it had taken him so long to come to me: He was naked as well now.

He seemed to be willing to make up for the moments he had left me alone, however, for his strokes were growing faster. Something else was growing as well, poking me at my backside. I was struck by the irrational thought that he could try to take me right now, like he had said in the corridor. I did want it to happen, but not quite as quickly as that. Reluctantly, I pushed his hand away.

"Slow down a little," I whispered. "Or it'll be over for me in a minute, and we won't be able to enjoy ourselves very much afterwards." I thought of how tired I always was after my release, and I couldn't imagine he'd like to make love to me in such a state.

Erik growled, but apparently he understood my point, for he didn't try to seize my manhood again, but rested his hand on my belly instead. My muscles were quivering with excitement.

I turned around, intending to kiss him as a way of thanking him for his patience, but instead of doing so, I found myself merely staring at him, mesmerised. He had placed the lamp on the chest of drawers next to the door, and the light was casting strangely shaped shadows on his body. He looked like a statue that someone had painted black in parts, while the rest remained the tone of his skin. How could anyone have ever considered him ugly? To me, he looked like the symbol of masculinity, with his strong arms and legs, well-defined muscles and the erection pointing towards me.

I felt a fierce kind of pride as I looked at him. Mine! He was all mine. Every inch of this beautiful body, every part of this beautiful mind belonged to me. Except for himself, I had been the only one every to touch him intimately, and I'd remain the only one. I'd never let anyone close to him. I noticed that Erik was gazing at me as well, but for once, I didn't blush or turn away. I saw the same kind of feelings reflected in his eyes and knew he was feeling the same pride about me belonging to him.

We stared at each other for another moment, simply enjoying the sight of the other man's body. Then, in the same second, we moved towards each other, and our lips met in a passionate kiss. Right from the first second, I knew that no matter what we had done before, this was the start of our first time. I didn't feel anxious, only excited, and it seemed to be the same for Erik. At last, I had made him forget his worries.

In the middle of the frenzy of hands wandering over skin, of tongue meeting tongue and hips meeting hips, Erik somehow managed to get us over to the bed. I hardly noticed any of it. I was too busy with his kisses and touches. It came quite as a surprise when I felt the edge of the bed at the back of my legs. Unable to hold onto something, I fell over backwards and pulled Erik with me. He landed right on top of me. We didn't even break the kiss to consider this new position, but simply continued what we had been doing before.

Erik had to be the most fantastic kisser in the world (although naturally, I didn't have a lot of experience to judge him by). He had developed a new technique of twirling his tongue around mine that made me feel all dizzy. I returned the kiss as well as I could, pushing my hips against his eagerly. Our manhoods were rubbing against each other in a most delicious way, and I felt mine grow bigger with every passing moment.

I could have happily gone on like this for all times, or at least till my release, but Erik seemed to have other plans. After just one or two minutes of lying on the bed, he pulled his left hand away from my chest, where it had been teasing my nipple, and groped for something. When he couldn't reach it, he sighed and shifted his whole body away from me.

I groaned in frustration. I had been in various stages of arousal for what felt like hours. When would he finally make me come?

"Erik, what – ?" I asked, but I received the answer before I had even uttered the entire question. Erik was just pulling a small bottle out of the drawer of the bedside table.

"You know what this is, don't you?" he whispered, lying down next to me and holding the bottle up for me to see. "This is the oil we've talked about, the one that will make things more comfortable for you. I bought it this morning."

I nodded, noticing how steady his voice sounded now and how quickly he had fetched the bottle. I wondered whether he had planned how and in which order to do these things before I had even come here. The answer was probably yes. Erik wasn't a man who left things to chance, least of all such important things. Well, if it helped him overcome his nervousness, it was fine with me. After all, it would make it easier for me as well.

As he was still holding the bottle into my face, I straightened up and looked at it. The contents were completely colourless, like water. I was glad about it. Oil in a strange colour such as blue would have made me much warier of its ingredients. This looked innocent enough for me to allow it to be used on very delicate parts of my body.

"All right then," I said, my voice shaking ever so slightly, giving away that I was not quite as calm as I'd have liked to be. "What do you want me to do? Shall I… turn over or something like that?"

Erik shook his head.

"Just lie down again," he replied, with just a tiny trace of anxiety. "Try to relax… close your eyes…"

I did what he told me, glad to know him in charge of the situation. I only had a vague idea of what was to happen next.

His hands were gliding over my legs, first merely stroking them, then nudging them apart gently. He bent my knees and popped up my legs, so that the soles of my feet were resting on the mattress. Involuntarily, I pushed my hips towards him.

"Patience, boy," he whispered, and it sounded as if he were smirking.

Hearing a soft popping sound, I knew that he had uncorked the bottle. Nothing happened for a few moments, and I was just about to ask what he was doing when I gasped in surprise. His hand had seized my manhood. It was slicker than usual, probably with the oil from the bottle, and I found the sensations it caused very pleasant. His fingers moved over my member with great ease. My erection had subsided in the moments in which no one had cared about it, but now it grew again, for what felt like the hundredth time this evening. I could only hope he'd let me come this time, or I might just explode.

And then I felt it. A finger, undoubtedly belonging to Erik's other hand, was pushed into me. At once, I grew tense, expecting the strange and unpleasant sensations I had felt the last time he had done it. Yet the only strange thing was that it didn't feel very strange after all. Perhaps it was the fact that his finger was slick with oil this time, or the fact that his other hand was caressing my manhood, or the fact that this time, he hadn't taken me by surprise. I knew what was to come, eventually.

I released the breath I had been holding and tried to focus on the feelings caused by the hand on my manhood. I didn't even gasp as he added a second finger, although it was growing uncomfortable. He was stroking me more slowly now, probably afraid I could find my release before he had even started properly. I couldn't bring myself to urging him on.

"Raoul," he said, somewhere above me. "I'm… I'm going to do it now."

"All right," I breathed again, bracing myself for the worst.

I had not expected too much. The pain was terrible. I felt as if I were ripped in half, slowly, inch by inch as Erik pushed into me, panting and gasping. I had always known his manhood was reasonably sized, but I had never appreciated just how huge it was. It stretched me far beyond the limits of what could be normal. Why did he have to be so big? I groaned loudly, tears prickling at behind my eyelids.

"Erik…" I whimpered.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked at once.

My whole body seemed to scream at me to say yes, to end this torture. But then I opened my eyes. Erik was gazing down at me in concern, but the signs of his own pleasure were so overwhelming that I saw them even though I was in pain. There were red patches on his usually so pale cheeks, and his eyes were bright. He was obviously enjoying himself, enjoying my body. And in that moment, I knew that I couldn't possibly say yes. He was the man I loved. I couldn't destroy these moments for him.

"No…" I whispered weakly. "It's fine… start… moving…"

"You'll soon enjoy it as well," he muttered. "I'll make you… I promise…"

I couldn't see how he'd manage to keep that promise, but I didn't point it out to him. I told myself that the sooner he started moving, the sooner it would all be over. I remembered that much from watching Jean-Paul and Pierre.

He started thrusting into me, very slowly, very cautiously. His body was in constant motion on top of mine, and no thrust was quite like the one before as he kept changing angles. I couldn't understand why he didn't simply continue doing it one way, but I didn't say anything.

"Oh…" he moaned. "Feels so good… so good…"

I watched him, waiting for the pain to grow less, when I suddenly cried out, but not in pain. Erik had hit what had to be the most wonderful spot inside me. Now I knew what he had been looking for, and I was grateful that I had not told him to stop.

"Oh God…" I whispered. "Do that again… please…"

He complied readily, increasing the speed of his thrusts and hitting that special spot almost every time. His hand seized my member again and continued stroking it.

I soon lost myself in that strange world of old and new sensations. Erik's moans mingled with mine, creating a completely new kind of music, a bittersweet sound in which pain was swallowed by overwhelming pleasure. If I had had any idea how good it would feel, I'd have let him make love to me much sooner.

With the combined effort of Erik's hand and his manhood, I was the first to find my release, unsurprisingly after so much teasing. Moaning more loudly still, I let myself float away on a cloud of pure bliss.

By the time my mind landed back in my head, where it belonged, Erik was almost finished as well. Having lost all inhibitions, he thrust into me hard once – twice – then his body grew tense.

"Raoul!" he cried, and I looked up at him. It was a sight to behold. Erik's face, his _whole_ face was contorted with bliss. It looked so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes again. It occurred to me that even if I hadn't felt a thing during the entire experience, it would have been worth it, just for that sight.

When it was over for him as well, he pulled out of me and settled down next to me. I wrapped my arms around his warm, sweaty body, feeling his fast heartbeat as if it were my own. He gave me a tired smile.

"Thank you," he muttered. "Thank you for letting me do it. I'm sorry it hurt you so much…"

"It's all right," I assured him. "If I was a girl… well, I heard it hurts for them as well, so…" I lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "And I did enjoy it in the end. Thank you for not giving up looking for that spot."

"I told you I'd make you enjoy it," he pointed out. "And I always keep my promises."

His voice had grown softer and softer with every word, and now he closed his eyes. It was only then that I realised how exhausting it had all been for him, how much self-control he had needed and how badly he had wanted me to enjoy it as well.

"Even when you're half-asleep, you always have to have the last word," I muttered, feeling rather sleepy myself.

"Yes," Erik breathed, resting his head next to mine. The fear of me seeing his face seemed to have disappeared. There was a first time for everything.


	27. Chapter TwentySeven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

I had no idea what time it was when I woke up. Marvelling at the fact that the room was not dark, but filled with a soft light, I realised that the lamp Erik had lit was still burning. It couldn't have been more than one or two hours since I had fallen asleep, and I was still feeling tired. Why had I woken up then?

The reason soon became clear to me: I was lying on something hard, long and bony. Rolling over onto my other side, I noticed that the mysterious object was Erik's arm. He seemed to have fallen asleep with his arms around me, but only the one I was lying on had remained in its position. The other one was resting behind his head.

Sighing, I straightened up a little, removed his arm from under me and lay down again. No matter how much I enjoyed having him close to me, this had simply been too uncomfortable. Cautiously, I pushed his arm between our bodies instead, snuggling up to him till nothing more than this one arm fitted between us.

Erik grunted a little, but didn't wake up. Now that I had the chance, I couldn't resist the temptation of looking at him more closely. He was lying on his right side, facing me. With the deformed part of his face hidden from view, he looked like a normal man… only more handsome. His extraordinary golden eyes were closed, but there were still his chiselled features to be admired.

I was sure that if it hadn't been for his deformity, Erik would have attracted a lot of attention, and not in a negative way. I knew many women who'd have liked to be seen with a handsome composer who could call a substantial fortune his own. Maybe he and I would have even moved in the same circles of society. Maybe our eyes would have met every now and then at a dinner party, but before we'd have been able to exchange a word, we'd have both been engaged in conversation again.

A deep feeling of happiness spread through my body. Could it be possible that I was actually glad about Erik's deformity? In the life I had just imagined for him, he would have been admired, but the two of us would have never shared the kind of intimacy we had shared tonight. We would have never had a meaningful conversation. He would have never turned my world so deliciously upside-down.

It was not jealousy that made me entertain such thoughts. I knew what jealousy felt like. How could I not, after all that had happened with Christine? My motivation was crucially different. I was simply glad that fate had brought him and me together. His face was but a fragment, one of a thousand factors that had let his path in life cross mine.

It was one of those rare moments in which everything fell into place and made perfect sense. I was even grateful for the sensation of being left alone after Christine's death. If I hadn't been lonely, I might have never gone to see Erik, and then we would have both been truly lonely, trapped in our own pain, without a trace of an idea that there was someone who could ease the pain, someone who understood us.

My mouth stretched into a content smile. All the pondering had made me sleepy once more, but also very happy. I snuggled up to Erik even more closely, let my eyelids droop, and within moments, I was asleep again.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

When I woke up for the second time, Erik was gone. I groped blindly for him in the bed, unwilling to open my eyes just yet, but I knew instinctively that it was in vain. Erik's presence was so overwhelming that I was sure I could have felt it without touching him. Nothing was there now.

Eventually I did open my eyes, only to find that it didn't make much of a difference. The room was plunged into total darkness. Sometime during the night, the lamp must have gone out, and since Erik was used to the dark, he hadn't lit it again, probably also in order not to wake me up. I told myself that it was best to get used to the darkness, seeing what an important part of his everyday life it was, but it felt odd. I knew there was a window, and experience told me there should have been light coming from it, yet since we were underground, there was no light.

As I didn't want to lie in bed alone, darkness or no darkness, I decided to get up and find out where Erik had gone. I sat up, disentangled my legs from the blanket and swung them over the edge of the bed. When I felt the soft carpet under my feet, I brought myself into a standing position, grateful that Erik didn't have any lamps dangling low from the ceiling. I would have been sure to hit my head.

Going to the door was like finding my way through an obstacle course. I hadn't been in the room often enough to know where the pieces of furniture were standing. Since I was afraid of walking head first into something I couldn't see, my progress was slow. Once or twice, I did indeed stumble over what probably were articles of clothing.

This reminded me of the fact that I was not wearing anything. I bent down to pick up the next best piece of clothing when I remembered that none of it could be mine, since I had undressed in the corridor. I'd have to go outside and fetch my clothes before I could do anything else. I briefly considered wrapping the blanket around myself, but decided against it. Apart from Erik, no one was in the house, and how likely was it that he'd be in the corridor? What was he supposed to do there?

I tried to persuade myself that this was the only reason why I didn't want to use the blanket, but it didn't work. The full truth was that I simply wanted to leave the room in nothing but my skin. I felt like doing something daring. As if I hadn't done something much more daring only last night… The thought made me blush slightly, but at the same time, hot desire pooled in the pit of my stomach. When I thought hard, I could still feel Erik inside me, stretching me beyond the limits of what I had thought my body capable of dealing with.

And I had enjoyed it. I had enjoyed it so much that even the memory made me grow hard. Now I did need something to hide certain parts of my body after all. Walking around without clothes was one thing, but without clothes and with an erection? That would have been too much for me.

I snatched a piece of clothing from the floor. Judging by the fabric and the size, it was Erik's undershirt. Holding it in front of my lower belly like a very small towel with one hand, I used the other one to open the door and stepped into the corridor.

After the darkness of the room, the light of the lamps illuminating the corridor almost blinded me. Was this how Erik felt every time he entered the outside world? I blinked rapidly, and after a moment, my eyes had grown used to the sudden brightness. Looking down at myself, I saw that I was indeed holding a white undershirt, which failed to hide the traces of my arousal. On the contrary, the soft fabric seemed to underline the size of my erection. I could imagine vividly what Erik would say if he saw me like this. Yet fortunately, the corridor was empty. Just a few steps, and then I'd get dressed. Once my erection had subsided, that was. Just a few steps…

It took me a few moments to realise that my clothes were gone. I looked up and down the corridor, but they were nowhere to be seen. Erik must have taken them and put them somewhere else. I muttered a swear word or two. My manhood, however, didn't seem to mind not being confined to the prison of clothes in the nearer future. It bobbed up and down merrily, swelling even more as I tried to force it into submission with the undershirt.

"And what exactly are you doing there?"

I glanced up and looked directly at Erik, who was standing in front of me, wearing a black silk dressing gown and an amused expression on his face. I had been so busy with my member that I hadn't seen him coming. I was aware of how peculiar I had to look, completely naked except for an undershirt in front of my private parts.

"I… erm… I was searching for my clothes," I explained hastily.

He raised both eyebrows, and I noticed that he was not wearing his mask yet.

"I picked them up from the floor and put them on the table in the sitting room," he told me. "I didn't want you falling over them when leaving the room. Well, you seem to have found at least one of my clothes, though it doesn't seem to fit too well. Remind me to take away my clothes as well next time. Such beauty shouldn't be hidden unless it's absolutely necessary."

He looked pointedly down at my erection, which seemed to agree with him. Without another word, he took the undershirt out of my hand and threw it to the floor. My manhood sprang free, pointing directly at him. I gulped.

"What… what about you then?" I asked, in a quiet, but rather steady voice. "You're wearing something…"

"If you don't like it, change it," he challenged, a blazing look in his eyes.

I didn't need another invitation. The belt of his dressing gown was opened quickly under my shaking hands, and I pushed the useless piece of clothing over his shoulders. Like I had secretly hoped, he was completely naked under it.

"I was a bad host, taking away your clothes without your knowledge," Erik stated, shaking his head sadly. "I hope you'll accept my… apology."

As I leaned against the wall, and he kneeled down in front of me, I wondered how I had ever managed to begin my days in any other way. This was what I wanted every day, for the rest of my life.


	28. Chapter TwentyEight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

By the time we finally made it to the kitchen, it was considerably later and I was considerably happier. We hadn't repeated what we had done last night, for my backside still felt a little sore, but we had found a few very enjoyable activities all the same. We had even made a little detour to the bathroom to fetch me a dressing gown identical to the one Erik had reluctantly put on again, claiming that he could get used to not wearing anything in the house. Only a very pointed piece of advice concerning hot coffee and exposed skin had finally made him give in. The dressing gowns hiding my body as well as his had been a compromise I had been willing to make.

"I could really do with some food now," I announced as we entered the kitchen.

"Well, I don't know," Erik said with a grin. "I for one already had some… nourishment this morning."

My cheeks flushed. It was true that he had had his share of liquid nourishment, if one could use that term. Just like the last time he had pleasured me with his mouth, I had warned him when I had been close, but unlike last time, he had gone on, and… I blushed even more deeply.

"It's all right, Raoul," he assured me gently, guessing my thoughts correctly. "If I hadn't been sure to enjoy it, I wouldn't have done it in the first place."

"But you couldn't know whether you'd enjoy it," I argued. "You had never done it before."

"Yes, but… I simply wanted to do it, so I did it," he said. "You talk as if you hadn't enjoyed yourself."

"I did, I did," I muttered hastily.

The mere memory of his lips on me the whole time, never leaving my sensitive flesh, not even in the most crucial moments, made me want him to repeat the experience… again… and again.

"Then why are we talking about it at all?" Erik asked. "You enjoyed it, I enjoyed it… Would you rather have coffee or tea for breakfast?"

"Coffee, but…" I murmured, looking to the floor. There was another question on my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to uttering it. It would have been too embarrassing. "What about me?" I finally brought out, in barely more than a whisper.

One of the things that were both good and bad about Erik was his slightly uncanny ability to deduce what was on my mind from merely one or two facts.

"You want to know whether I'll expect you to do it for me as well?" he asked.

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the floor.

"Look at me, love," he all but cooed.

The term of endearment did what his voice alone wouldn't have done, at least not with such ease. Obediently, I lifted my head and looked directly into his eyes.

"Do you honestly think I'd make you do anything you're not comfortable with?" he whispered.

I shook my head, gazing into his beautiful eyes.

"I love it when you pleasure me in any way, especially with those luscious lips of yours. The rest is… an addition, nothing more. I wanted to try it and I'm glad I did, but whether you do it as well is up to you. I won't love you any more or less for it… not that it would be possible for me to love you any more than I do," he added, his voice as soft as honey on my soul. I felt myself positively glow with happiness.

"I love you, too, Erik," I whispered. "Whether or not you… do what you did."

"What – pleasure you with my mouth and swallow the semen?" he said lazily.

Sometimes I couldn't help thinking that he enjoyed making me blush.

"Didn't you say something about coffee?" I asked quickly, hoping my face would return to its normal colour if I talked about something as mundane as breakfast.

"Among other things, yes," he agreed.

His smile told me he'd let the matter rest, at least for the moment. I was very grateful for it. I knew he drew pleasure, possibly even of the physical sort, from my consternation, but it was a little hard to deal with this early in the morning. I'd probably get used to it after a few nights like this, though. The thought made me smile as well.

"Where's the food then?" I asked as my stomach gave a little growl. I couldn't remember the last meal I had eaten. My memory of everything that had happened before _that_ night was slightly hazy.

Erik walked over to a cupboard and opened a drawer.

"Let's see," he muttered, leaning down to examine the contents. "I've got bread… cheese… jam and honey… no fresh rolls, I'm afraid, since I haven't been outside yet… but there's still some chocolate cake. We never ate it the other evening when you came to visit me. It's a little stale now, but that shouldn't alter the taste too much."

"Mmmm…" I made. I had no objections to his suggestions. On the contrary, I thought it all sounded delicious.

Erik emerged from the cupboard, his arms full of plates and jars filled with food.

"You can help, too if you like," he offered, carrying them over to the table. "If you lay the table, I'll make coffee. Everything you need is in the top drawer."

I nodded, glad about having something to do. I didn't want Erik to think that I was using him as my housekeeper.

To my surprise, I found the drawer to be equipped not only with a plate and a cup for one person, but for two.

"Have you been expecting me to eat with you?" I asked, loading my arms with all we'd need.

"Not exactly," he replied. "I wanted you to eat with me, yes, but the plates and everything else was there before. I bought it for…"

"…for Christine," I finished. "I see."

Strong hands seized me by the waist and pulled me close, nearly making me drop everything I was holding.

"Are you angry at me now?" Erik wanted to know softly. "I was just being honest."

"It's all right," I told him, meaning it. I couldn't blame him for having made preparations, even if it had never been likely that Christine would come here. I'd have done the same.

A shrill hissing interrupted what could have become a tender moment.

"The water!" he exclaimed, letting go of me abruptly.

Quickly, before I could no longer hold them, I carried the plates and cups to the table, then returned to the cupboard to fetch the cutlery. By the time I had placed everything neatly on the table, Erik joined me with a coffee pot in his hands. He filled my cup first, then his, gesturing invitingly at sugar and milk with his free hand.

"Take whatever you like," he said. "Food and drink. Just help yourself."

I didn't need telling twice. The next minutes passed in silence, except for the sounds of knives cutting bread and spoons stirring coffee and the occasional slurping. The coffee Erik had made was surprisingly good, a little stronger than I'd have preferred it, but as long as there was enough cream to sweeten it, I was not about to complain. The food was very good, too.

The truly astonishing thing was that Erik ate as well. I had to remind myself that he did things as normal as that. He had told me so, and I had even seen it for myself. Still, it was strange. I had regarded him as a mere ghost for so long that it was hard to think of him as an ordinary human being.

He seemed to notice the fascination in my eyes as I watched him, for he ate and drank with great relish, giving me the occasional wink. His manners were excellent, not at all like one could have expected it from someone who had lived alone for years. I doubted that even my father, who had been exceptionally strict about things such as manners, would have found fault in him.

It was only when I started with the chocolate cake that I spoke again.

"This is delicious," I declared after the first few mouthfuls. "You didn't… bake it yourself, did you?"

"No," he replied. "Baking is not one of my many qualities. I bought it."

"You bought all this cake for you alone?" I asked with a slight frown.

"Well, I had the faint hope that you might come here," he admitted. "But if you hadn't come, I'd have eaten the cake myself… or else I'd have left it in the chorus girls' dressing room to ruin their diet and infuriatre Mme.Giry." He grinned sheepishly.

I smiled as well.

"I saved the chorus girls then?" I asked. "Well, in that case…"

I helped myself to another slice of cake and wolfed it down hungrily. Erik watched me with a smile on his lips. He seemed to enjoy feeding me.

"What are your plans for today?" he wanted to know once my mouth was empty and it was safe for me to speak without crumbs falling onto the table.

I gave a little groan. I didn't like being reminded of the outside world. For a while, I had almost forgotten that there _was_ an outside world.

"I guess I'll go home and make up a good excuse where I've been all night," I replied without great enthusiasm.

"Say you've been with a girl," Erik suggested. "I'm sure your brother will be delighted to hear that."

"Yes, but if I tell him such a story, he'll want to know all the details," I argued. "He won't leave me in peace before I…" I stopped myself, smiling as a wonderful thought spread through my mind. "Erik, what day is it?"

"The first," he answered, looking at me curiously. "Why is that so important?"

"Because Philippe won't be home when I get back," I told him excitedly. "Every month on the first, he travels south. Our family owns land there, and someone has to make sure that everything is all right. Well, in Philippe's case, it probably means that he walks around on the land for five minutes, declares that everything is just fine and spends the rest of the day in an inn, looking for pretty girls. But I don't care. All that matters is that he won't return till night."

"Why are you going back at all then?" Erik wanted to know. "You could stay here… with me."

"Yes, I'd like to stay," I replied without hesitation. "But don't you have things to do? I mean… who'll scare the chorus girls and tell the managers what mistakes they make if you're not there?"

"Oh, I will be there," he gave back, reaching over the table and taking my hand. "And so will you. I'll show you the opera in a way you've never seen it before."


	29. Chapter TwentyNine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Delighted as I had been at the prospect of Erik showing me the opera in the way he knew it, I hadn't seriously believed that I'd see very much of interest to me. After all, I had been to the opera countless times, first with my brother, usually to see some ladyfriend of his, then alone to visit Christine. I had thought I knew most of the corridors leading backstage and to the upper floors of the building. How very wrong I had been…

After we had left his world behind, Erik led me through a couple of passageways. I had no idea where we were going, but it didn't matter to me either. It was being with Erik that counted. We were talking about this and that, and I found that he wasn't only capable of meaningful discussions about important matters, but also of light-hearted conversations about nothing special.

He amused me with an anecdote of a chorus girl who had once returned to the opera late at night after a long encounter with an admirer and had tried to climb through the window of her dormitory rather than use the door, as to avoid being spotted.

"Most unfortunately, she was not the brightest ballet rat there was," he told me with a tragic little sigh. "She counted the windows from the wrong side of the building, and instead of landing in her own room, she ended up right on the lap of Mme.Giry, who had fallen asleep at the window of her study!"

I burst into laughter. Erik was such a good story-teller that I could easily imagine the scene in front of my mind's eye. The indignant ballet mistress and the puzzled girl – it was just too funny.

"I wish I could have been there," I mumbled, gasping for breath.

"I _was_ there," Erik said. "Well, at least I was almost there. Keyholes are a very useful invention for finding out the most interesting stories. But we have to stop talking and be quiet now, or someone will hear us."

To my surprise, he didn't lead me further down the corridor we were just walking through, but up a steep ladder that he placed right in front of us. It was so dark that I couldn't see where it led. The air was stale and dusty, and I had to suppress the urge to sneeze. I tried my best to make as little noise as possible, knowing that if Erik told me to be quiet, it had to be important.

After two or three minutes of climbing in silence, we came to a halt.

"Take this for a moment," Erik muttered, handing me his lantern. "I need both my hands."

I heard a series of metallic clicking sounds, but I couldn't see anything, for his body was between me and whatever he was doing. Still, I rather enjoyed the view I had. Erik's backside was right over me, moving in a tantalising rhythm. I couldn't resist the temptation to give it a loving squeeze.

Erik yelped indignantly and jumped slightly.

"Watch out, boy," he growled, but he didn't sound too angry. "If I fall, you'll have to catch me."

I merely chuckled. Erik was as sure-footed as a cat. The chance of him falling down the ladder was rather remote.

At last, light spilled onto us from above. I saw that there was a rectangular opening in the ceiling, large enough for a man to climb through. And that was what we did, after Erik had peered through the opening for a few moments and declared that it was safe to come out. He went first, then took over the now useless lantern, while I heaved myself through the opening, panting slightly.

As I came into a standing position, I looked around curiously to see where we had ended up.

"The stage," I muttered, still a little out of breath.

"A remarkable observation," Erik commented dryly. "Do you like it here?"

I walked around a little, marvelling at the sounds my footsteps made on the wooden floor. It was a strange sensation to be here on the stage, to see the rows and rows of seats. I imagined them being full of curious people, all of whom had only come to hear me sing. A little shiver of excitement ran down my spine, and suddenly, I understood a little of what made the profession of a singer or an actor so appealing to many.

"Yes," I replied in a whisper. "Yes, I like it."

It was only when I heard that even my soft voice echoed through the deserted auditorium that I realised how exposed we were on the stage.

"What if someone sees us here?" I asked, turning around to face Erik.

"No one will see us, because no one is there" he assured me. "It's the time of the morning break. Everyone is in their rooms, eating, drinking or doing whatever else they please. Nobody will even be near the stage or the auditorium. They all enjoy their break far too much to end it earlier. That's why we are here now. I wanted to start my little tour with the heart of the opera: the stage."

"And the trapdoor?" I wanted to know suspiciously. "Is this where Christine and you vanished at the first night of ´Don Juan Triumphant´?"

"Indeed," he answered. He seemed surprised that I had made the connection, but not in a negative way. "Of course there was no ladder standing there on that day," he explained. "It would have taken us far too long to climb down. We simply jumped. I had placed a stack of mattresses at the right spot, so we didn't hurt ourselves."

"I see," I muttered.

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to think about that day now. I had been so full of hatred then, and now… Soft lips made their way up the side of my neck, which somewhat distracted me.

"Don't think about it," Erik whispered in between little kisses. "I expect we'll encounter the past many a time today, but bear in mind that only the present really matters. I'm here with you now, and I love you. Who cares what a trapdoor was used for months ago?"

By the time his lips reached mine, I was fully convinced. What was the point in pondering, now that the man I loved was with me, his tongue seeking entrance into my mouth? I was only too willing to grant it. If there had indeed been an audience in the auditorium now, they'd have seen quite the performance. And the best thing about it was that it was not a performance at all. Every gasp and moan was real.

After a few minutes of exchanging increasingly heated kisses and caresses, my hand made its way down to the front of his trousers, where it encountered the tell-tale bulge of his hardness. I moaned into Erik's mouth. It was quite amazing that we both were aroused again, so shortly after our encounter before breakfast. There had to be something about the atmosphere of the opera. I wondered how many couples had stood where we stood now, right on the stage, making the most of a short break between two rehearsals. I'd have to ask Erik about it later. I had a feeling that he knew very much about such topics. But now was not the right moment.

I hadn't as much as started opening his trousers when he seized me and pulled me behind a curtain at the side of the stage. I threw him a surprised glance. What were we doing here?

"Before long, the ballet rats will return to the stage," he explained hastily. "The break won't last forever, you know."

"Neither will I," I reminded him, taking his hand and placing it where I wanted to have it.

A few days ago, I might have tried to persuade Erik to go somewhere else, somewhere less exposed. Yet I had to admit that the situation itself was quite arousing. Any moment now, the chorus girls and Mme.Giry would come back and continue their usual morning rehearsal, oblivious to the fact that we were right here, behind that curtain, with our manhoods exposed in each other's hands. Perhaps they would notice the curtain moving and come to see what was going on. Perhaps they would hear our moaning. The thought made me grow even harder, and I thrust frantically into his hand, while we kissed passionately.

Neither of us lasted long. We came in each others's hands, stifling our moans with hungry kisses. When it was over, we simply stood there for a few moments, trying to regain our breath. Then we cleaned ourselves with the handkerchief I found in my pocket and tucked away our now limp members.

It was only when I peered through a gap in the curtain and saw the still deserted stage that I noticed something was wrong.

"Why is no one here?" I asked, somewhat suspiciously. "You told me the break was almost over."

Erik grinned cheekily.

"Oh, now that I think about it, the break might not be over for another ten minutes," he gave back. "I have no idea how I could have made such a grave mistake… But you did enjoy it, didn't you?"

I felt like throwing something at him. Yet since there was nothing useful in sight, I merely gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder as we left the stage. After all, he was right. I had enjoyed it, and the fear of being discovered had added a certain thrill I wouldn't forget in a hurry. Like so many times before, Erik had known exactly what I needed.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Author's note:** Thank you for all the nice reviews, which continued to reach me, even though I didn't update for quite a while, due to the fact that I had several important exams I had to prepare myself for. Your support means a lot to me.

**Chapter Thirty**

"Where are we going now?" I asked curiously as we left the stage behind us.

I was still a little out of breath from our enjoyable pastime and hoped that the next place Erik wanted to show me wasn't far from here. All I longed for at the moment was somewhere to sit down, but I was afraid of telling him so. After all, Erik was much older than I was, and he didn't show any signs of exhaustion. I didn't want to appear weak.

"Well," Erik replied slowly. "I was thinking of showing you around the dressing rooms and offices, but I guess we should do that later. You look tired, boy. Why don't we go to Box Five, relax and watch the rehearsal?"

To my immense relief, there was no trace of irony or sarcasm in his voice. He merely sounded concerned.

"I'd like to do that," I admitted. "That is, if you don't mind…"

"Why should I mind?" he asked. "I'm rather exhausted myself."

"You don't look exhausted at all," I remarked.

Erik shook his head, looking almost amused.

"Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there," he said wisely. "That's the first thing you've got to remember about me. Of course I don't show it when I'm weak. If I did, everyone would start taking advantage of me at once."

"But you've shown weakness in front of me," I argued.

"That is because you mean everything to me," he said simply. "I don't have to act when I'm with you. I feel completely at ease. Shall we go to Box Five now?"

I nodded, feeling a happy smile spread across my face.

To my surprise, we took the normal way to get from the stage to the boxes. Erik explained that we didn't have to be afraid of being seen, for the boxes and the auditorium had already been cleaned early in the morning. Nobody else would be there at this time of day. It was amazing how much he knew about the opera and everyone who worked there. It was as if he knew the location of every single person in every single minute of the day.

The moment Erik had unlocked the door to his box and opened it, I walk past him and sank down in a chair. It was soft and comfortable and felt like the best seat in the world, at least just now.

Erik sat down next to me. Looking at me with a smirk on his face, he remarked,

"I seem to be expecting too much from you. Maybe we should limit our sexual activities to once or twice a week instead of once or twice a day, so you'll be able to relax properly in between."

"No!" I said quickly.

It was only when I heard him chuckle that I realised he had been joking. I blushed slightly, feeling foolish.

"I'm sure I'll get used to it," I added. "Besides, it's good that we've come here. I like it, and we can watch the rehearsal."

"I doubt it'll be very enjoyable," Erik warned me. "There are a few new ballet rats, and they have no idea what they're supposed to do. Given the number of times Mme.Giry has to shout during the rehearsals, she'll be hoarse before the week is over."

Ten minutes into the rehearsal, I could only agree with him. The new chorus girls, easily recognisable by the shy smiles on their faces and the somewhat pointless way they waved their arms and legs in the air, really had no idea what they had to do. Mme.Giry bellowed instructions that left little to the imagination, but some of the girls seemed to be completely deaf towards criticism or even good advice.

I shook my head in disapproval and saw Erik doing the same. We looked at each other and smiled.

"It'll become better soon," he promised. "Once the other dancers make their appearance, you won't have to endure the ballet rats again. And funnily, they usually improve their performance if they're not being watched."

I nodded. I could understand the chorus girls. It couldn't be pleasant to have someone criticise every move one made.

When I looked back at the stage, two new faces had indeed appeared there. Meg Giry was dancing a pas de deux… with none other than Jean-Paul, the dancer Erik and I had watched last night. At once, I grew much more interested.

The effect the handsome dancer had on the ballet girls was quite remarkable, though not at all in the way Erik had predicted. Even those who had been dancing well before started making stupid mistakes, sometimes tripping over their own feet or hitting each other with their arms because the were too busy looking at Jean-Paul to pay attention to anything else.

Only Meg seemed indifferent. I recalled that the men had said some people at the opera knew about them, and I guessed Meg was one of them.

"Yes, she knows it," Erik told me when I asked him about it. "Meg and Jean-Paul have been friends ever since he came here. They have to be careful to keep the contact casual, though, or everyone else will expect them to get married. But they're a beautiful couple, aren't they?"

I could only agree. Meg's hair was just as blond and shiny as Jean-Paul's, though they had both tied it back today. His arms fit perfectly around her slim waist, and when he lifted her into the air, it seemed absolutely effortless.

"Where's Pierre?" I asked. "Doesn't he watch him practice?"

Erik shook his head.

"I've never seen him around when Jean-Paul practices a pas de deux," he replied. "Can't you imagine why?"

I watched the two for another minute, watched the way their bodies moved gracefully together, the way they touched each other. Then I nodded slowly.

"Yes, I see," I muttered. "He'd grow insane with jealousy. It's good that you're not a dancer," I added as an afterthought, placing a hand on his arm.

"Yes, it is," he agreed. "Especially for the female dancers. I doubt they'd lie as willingly in my arms as in his."

"But you can always lie in my arms," I reminded him. "And they…" I pointed at the dancers. "…can't."

"I shall certainly hope so," Erik all but growled.

We continued watching the rehearsal, but after the pas de deux was over, it grew rather boring. The chorus girls went on with what I assumed was their usual routine. About half an hour later, they were finished and started talking among themselves, while Mme.Giry left the stage, probably to get herself a nice hot cup of tea. She certainly looked as if she needed it.

I wanted to leave as well, but Erik motioned me to stay.

"Let us hear what everyone has got to say," he told me. "I have a feeling that I might grow interested in gossip again. It can come in useful."

I shrugged. As long as I was with Erik, I didn't care where I was or what I was doing.

Meg and Jean-Paul were standing at one side of the stage, not far from Box Five. We could hear every word they spoke.

"I don't believe it," Meg was just saying, shaking her head. "I just don't believe it."

"But it's true," Jean-Paul insisted. "I heard it myself."

"Are you sure that you didn't fall asleep after the rehearsal last night and dreamed the whole thing?" Meg asked sceptically.

"You can ask Pierre if you don't believe me," Jean-Paul replied indignantly. "He was with me. He heard it as well."

I held my breath. A terrible suspicion arose in me. They had to be talking about Erik and me. What else could they have heard last night? I leaned forwards in my seat, eager to hear more.

"I'm telling you, the Opera Ghost is in love," Jean-Paul said excitedly. "And I think his beloved is a man. He asked Pierre and me all kinds of questions last night, about what it is like to prefer men to women, and how we live with it. It was very peculiar."

"I don't believe it," Meg muttered yet again, though she looked sad rather than incredulous now. "I thought he loved Christine… Has he forgotten her that quickly?"

"NO!"

Erik jumped up from his seat. His breath was coming in harsh gasps, and I could almost see his heart hammering in his chest.

"I have not forgotten Christine!" he yelled, his voice breaking. "I love her! How dare you say that I could have replaced her? No one will ever replace Christine! No one!"

I didn't wait to hear the reaction of the people on the stage. I didn't care what they thought or said. I had heard enough. My chair fell to the floor as I jumped up from it and ran out of the box. Erik didn't even turn around.


	31. Chapter ThirtyOne

**Chapter Thirty-One**

"Oh! Mind where you're going!"

Feeling a large body rush past me and hearing the sound of hooves, I looked up slowly.

"What?" I muttered in a tired voice.

"I nearly ran over you! You crossed the road right in front of me, without looking left or right!"

I turned my head into the direction of the angry voice. It belonged to a man riding a chestnut horse, which had come to a halt some twenty feet away from me.

"I'm… sorry," I mumbled automatically. "Sorry…"

I still didn't know what had happened, nor did I feel any desire to find out. I turned around and walked away in the opposite direction.

"Monsieur!" the man called after me. "Are you all right? You could have been dead…"

That was the last I heard of him before I turned the corner and was out of earshot. Still, his last word was reverberating in my head. Dead… dead… dead… And now that I thought about it, I did feel dead. My arms were hanging limply at my sides, and I could barely muster the energy to lift my feet enough to walk. It was more of a shuffle. Even keeping my head in an upright position required much more strength than usual. Why was it so heavy?

´Don't think about it´, a voice in my head told me sharply. ´Don't think at all!´

Yet even as I listened to the voice, I realised that this was exactly what I had been doing all the time: not thinking. That was why I didn't even know where I was or how I had come to be there. But why? What had happened?

And then it hit me. I came to an abrupt halt, right in the middle of the street, which thankfully was deserted. The memories didn't come one after the other, the way they usually did. The images I had tried so desperately to keep at the back of my mind, far away from me, burst forth, all at the same time.

It was like being caught in a dream… or rather, a nightmare. Flashes of images and sounds chased each other in my head, making me dizzy. There I was, lying in bed next to Erik… but at the same time, I saw myself having breakfast with him… then I heard him tell me that he loved me, and my heart contracted with joy…

But even after that image had grown blurry, the feeling was still there, and it grew stronger and more and more uncomfortable. It was as if an iron fist had caught hold of my heart, squeezing it relentlessly, without mercy.

Then I heard them. Words, as loud as thunder.

_I have not forgotten Christine! No one could ever replace Christine! No one!_

So that was it. Erik did not love me. He loved only Christine.

I opened my eyes, surprised to see the world still standing around me, looking just like it always did. I started walking again, yet more slowly this time. I turned the corner and found myself in a more crowded street than the one I had left. I looked around curiously at the people surrounding me.

They were acting in a perfectly ordinary way. I could not understand it. How could that woman over there be shouting at her children because they were walking too slowly, even though they were already late for a supposedly important appointment? Didn't she know how lucky she was, having children, who'd always love her back?

And that man, complaining loudly about the price of tobacco! He didn't know what real problems were. He surely had a loving wife at home, and even if he hadn't, he didn't look as if he cared. Wherever I looked, I saw nothing but petty arguments and pointless conversations. Why didn't everyone count their blessings?

Directly in front of me, a young couple had just started kissing. I pushed past them, shoving the man just a little harder than necessary. They didn't break the kiss for as long as a moment. Looking back at them, I saw that they both had their eyes closed, seeing nobody and hearing nothing.

My heart gave a particularly painful throb. Oh, how well I knew that state of blissful oblivion! I thought back to what Erik and I had done on the stage, in clear view of anyone who might have walked past. It had felt so good…

But it had been nothing but a lie. It had all been a lie. Erik had said things he hadn't meant, done things he hadn't wanted. But why? Why had he done all that if he didn't love me? Had it been nothing but a joke, a game to see how much I'd make a fool of myself before I'd realise the truth?

I thought hard, reliving our past encounters, trying to remember every conversation. I didn't find a single sign that could have warned me that he was not being sincere. But then, everyone knew that the Opera Ghost was a good liar. He could have fooled anyone. I had been stupid to believe I knew him…

"Excuse me, Monsieur?"

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I spun around. A woman clutching a large bag looked up at me.

"I thought you needed help," she explained with an anxious smile. "You were muttering to yourself, and you look so pale and shaky. Are you ill? Shall I call for a doctor?"

It was the second time today that I was being addressed in the street by a complete stranger, and this time, I wasn't confused enough not to realise how embarrassing it was.

"No, no" I replied hastily. "I'm fine. I'm… I'm on my way home."

The moment I said it, I knew how right I was. I had to go home. There would be no one to comfort me either, but at least I wouldn't attract the attention of strangers anymore. And I'd be able to cry.

For the first time since I had left the opera, I took in where my feet had carried me. To my relief, it was not far from where I lived. I gave the woman what I hoped was a reassuring smile and set off at a brisk pace. All of a sudden, I was desperate to get to the privacy of my own room. I needed peace and quiet.

Barely a quarter of an hour later, I walked through the gate and let myself into the house. With immense relief, I noticed that Philippe's favourite hat and coat were gone. Despite his plans, there had always been the possibility that he'd change his mind and stay here after all. With my brother, one could never be certain of anything.

A door to my left was pushed open, and the cook appeared, carrying a sack of potatoes. Her kind grey eyes grew wide as she looked at me.

"M. le Vicomte!" she exclaimed. "What happened to you? You look terrible... pale and drawn!"

I suppressed a sigh. Apparently, the walk back home had not improved my appearance and made me look more healthy. I could count myself lucky that no other strangers had talked to me and recommened to call a doctor.

Slowly, I was growing angry. Why did all those people feel the need to comment on how I looked? Whatever problems I had, they were only for me to know and, if possible, to solve. No one else needed to hear about them.

I was about to give an angry retort, but remembered just in time who I was talking to. Our cook was one of the kindest people I knew. If she asked such questions, it was only because she was concerned about me.

"Something has happened, yes," I replied truthfully. "But it's really not that important…"

"Of course it is," she disagreed with me. "It has to be, or you wouldn't have arrived here looking like a ghost, after you've been gone all night. But," she went on, before I could even open my mouth. "I know it is none of my concern. I'm only the cook. So I'll do what a cook does: I'll offer you a cup of coffee or tea. It can help with many problems, you know."

I doubted that all the coffee and tea in the world could have helped me, but I didn't want to turn down the friendly offer.

"Thank you," I said. "A cup of tea would be very good."

I put my jacket on the coatrack and followed the cook into the kitchen.

"I can serve the tea in the library or in the sitting room," she told me as she bustled around, putting a cup and a plate of biscuits onto a tray while she waited for the water to boil. "Or would you prefer the garden? Maybe you should take advantage of the good weather while it lasts."

"No, no," I said quickly. "I'll just stay here and drink it."

She glanced at me with a slight frown, but nodded.

"Of course, M. le Vicomte," she muttered. "Whatever you prefer."

She poured the tea into my cup, then turned away to pick up the sack of potatoes. Putting some of them into a bowl, she started peeling one after the other.

"I hope you don't mind," she commented. "They have to be peeled now, or I won't be finished on time. You see, since no one was home for lunch, I thought I'd make a warm dinner."

"A good idea," I mumbled. I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to eat all that much, but I couldn't tell her that.

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. It was quite enjoyable, but I couldn't help thinking about what I'd be doing now if Erik hadn't said what he had said. Would I be drinking tea with him instead of our cook, or would we be engaged in other activities?

And what was Erik doing at the moment? Did he even care that I had left? Or had he merely continued wandering around in the opera? Maybe he was glad that the truth had been revealed. No more pretending that he felt something for me…

A sigh escaped my lips. At once, the cook looked up from her work.

"I know it is not my place to ask questions," she started cautiously. "But I can't help noticing that something seems to be troubling you. Is it Mlle.Daaé? My daughter and I always liked her. She was such a nice girl."

"It has something to do with Christine," I answered without hesitation. Here was someone who looked sympathetic enough to listen to me, and that was more than could be said about most people these days. "There is… someone else as well. But h…" I quickly turned the word into a little cough, then went on," But that person doesn't have the kind of feelings I had hoped for." I couldn't bring myself to uttering the word ´love´.

"One can never be completely sure about another person's feelings," the cook stated simply. "If in doubt, one should always listen to one's own feelings. It usually works."

I merely shrugged, unsure what to say. There was no doubt about Erik's feelings, was there? He had expressed them plainly and clearly, right in front of me and many other people. But that kind of information would have been too much for the cook, so I kept my mouth shut.

Noticing that the woman was watching me closely, I decided to change the subject.

"How is Viviana?" I asked. "I haven't see her in days."

I knew how fond the cook was of her daughter, and how much she enjoyed talking about her. Yet to my surprise, her grey eyes grew slightly darker, and a frown appeared on her face. She looked at me, and there was a certain helplessness about her that I could not understand.

The moment passed so quickly that I almost thought I had imagined it all. She straightened up, and her lips stretched into a smile.

"She is fine, M. le Vicomte," the cook replied cheerfully. "She enjoys her work very much. We both do."

With these words, she got up from her chair and went to the sink. I heard the cluttering of dishes and knew that there had been something wrong with my supposedly innocent topic. At the moment, however, I was simply too busy with my own thoughts to ponder it. I looked down at the plate and, seeing the chocolate biscuits, I was painfully reminded of the chocolate cake Erik had once promised to give me for dessert, before we had been distracted by other things.

My eyes welled up with tears, and I knew I had to leave quickly.

"I should better go now," I said hastily. "Thank you for the tea."

I stood up and left the kitchen as quickly as I could without appearing suspicious. Fortunately, the house seemed deserted. I raced up the stairs and down the corridor, desperate to get to my room before the urge to cry overwhelmed me. The biscuits had been the final straw.

I opened the door and had to stifle a gasp of shock. There, sitting at my desk, was Erik, holding a book in his hands.

"You sure took your time," he told me pleasantly.


	32. Chapter ThirtyTwo

**Author's note:** This chapter was difficult for me to write in several ways. First, there was the problem of time and technology. My computer died, and I had to get a new one, which in the beginning, I could hardly persuade to work for me at all. Once it was doing what I told it to, I had to leave for a short holiday in France, which meant I had even less time for writing than before. Then there were the emotional issues. I had not expected this chapter to be too close for comfort, but it was. In a way, that made it very easy to write, and in another, very difficult indeed. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and I promise you won't have to wait that long for the next chapter.

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

"Erik!" I croaked, utterly confused.

"Yes," Erik said simply. "Did you expect someone else in your room? A maid, perhaps? Or your charming brother?"

I shook my head. Slowly, the realisation that I was not imagining things sank in. He was really here, in my room. But why? And how? I couldn't understand it.

"How... how did you get in?" I asked, thinking that the question was as good a point to start as any other. "The door was locked... and the servants... Did anyone see you come in?"

"Of course no one saw me," Erik replied indignantly. He sounded as if I had insulted his honour as Opera Ghost. "I came in through a window. The left one wasn't fastened properly. Very careless of you, given that you've got a balcony right outside your window. I would have expected better from you."

For some reason, I found myself blushing at his words. It hurt me to know that I hadn't met his expectations. Then I recalled that there were far more important matters now. I thought back to what had happened, and anger blazed in my chest, burning away the embarrassment. I was not the one who had done something wrong. He was.

"And you think that breaking into my house and confronting me in my own bedroom is a good idea?" I wanted to know suspiciously.

"Well... yes," Erik answered frankly. "I knew that the chances of you coming back to the opera anytime soon were remote, so I decided to take matters into my own hands."

His calm way of speaking made me even more furious.

"Of course I wouldn't have come back to the opera!" I exclaimed. "Why should I? I have heard more than enough. Would you have liked me to stay and listen to you telling everyone how much you love Christine and no one else?"

I managed to keep my voice cold, but I felt emotions bubbling just below the surface. I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be able to hold myself back. I had to get rid of Erik quickly.

I stepped forwards, seized him by the shoulders and gave him a hard push in the direction of the windows.

"Get out!" I hissed. "I don't want you here! Go back to your opera and stay there! I don't need you!"

I gave him another push, but now he had recovered from the shock. Quite calmly, he grabbed my wrists and forced my arms down.

"Let go of me!" I snarled. It made me furious to know that he could stop me whenever he pleased, whereas he could have easily picked me up from the floor and carried me around if he felt like it, and I couldn't have done anything to prevent it.

I struggled, but it was pointless. There was too much strength in that bony body of his. I couldn't break his grip. All I could do was balling my hands into angry fists.

Erik shook his head.

"I will not let go of you," he told me. "Nor will I leave before you've heard me out. You can struggle all you please. We both know I am stronger than you. I can't force you to listen to me... but I will certainly try."

I threw him a furious glance. For a moment or two, I seriously considered shouting for help, just to get away from him. Yet as I thought about the consequences, I dismissed the idea. It would have been much too embarrassing to be found standing here, struggling with a stranger who had appeared out of nowhere in my bedroom. How could I have explained myself to a servant without causing a tidal wave of gossip? I didn't even understand it properly myself.

Erik seemed to regard my silence as assent.

"Good," he said. "You will listen. Good."

He paused, and I realised that he didn't seem to have thought much about what to say. It gave me a certain sense of satisfaction to know that he wasn't always well-prepared and in control of the situation.

"Well," he went on after a moment. "You heard some very negative things today. I wish you hadn't."

"Oh, I think it was good that I heard it all," I said grimly. "It explained a lot. Now I know what you're truly feeling."

"You don't know anything," he gave back dismissively. "Well, nothing you didn't know before, anyway."

"Oh yes?" I said hotly, my temper rising again. "In case you haven't noticed, I am not a mind-reader. I believed what you told me. I believed that you love me."

If I had hoped that my accusations would provoke him into telling me how much he loved me, I'd have been mistaken.

"What knowledge did you gain from hearing what you heard?" he asked matter-of-factly.

"I... I learned that you don't love me," I replied quietly. The words stung in my mouth and throat like angry wasps.

"When did I say that?" he wanted to know. "I can't recall having said anything like it."

"You didn't," I admitted. "But you as good as said it. You said that you love Christine and that no one could ever replace her."

"That is true," he said. "But you knew that before."

"No!" I cried. "I never knew that!"

"Yes, you did," he disagreed, still in that maddeningly calm voice. "And I've always known that the same is true for you. You love Christine, and no one could ever replace her. That is why I'm not even trying to do so. What makes you think that you are supposed to do it?"

I stopped struggling as I thought about his words. It was true that I still loved Christine. She had a special place in my heart, a place reserved for my first love. And Erik? I felt deep inside myself. I loved him, too, of course I did. He had a different place in my heart. It wasn't smaller or less important, just... different.

I was suddenly reminded of my sisters. I loved both of them. Neither was more important than the other. Was the kind of love I felt for Christine and Erik the same as the love between siblings, at least in that respect? Erik seemed to think so. And if it was really like that... I smiled tentatively.

"So you do love me?" I asked shyly.

"Of course I do," Erik assured me. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have come here. There are far better activities for a fine evening like this than hiring a coach to ride through the city and climbing up walls to get to a stubborn boy who runs away without the explanations he deserves, probably even shedding unnecessary tears."

He let go of my right wrist, so he could touch the soft skin below my eye with his left index finger. A shiver ran down my spine.

"I love you, Raoul," he told me in a soft voice. "I love you so much. True, you cannot have my whole heart. A part of it is Christine's, and it'll always be like that. But you can have the rest of my heart... and of my soul, if such a thing exists in me. Isn't that enough for you?"

I nodded mutely. A lump was rising in my throat, and I didn't trust myself to speak.

"I have studied human behaviour for years," he went on, sounding a little more matter-of-fact. "And I'm afraid that it's like that for most people. No matter how many others they've been with, the first person they loved always has a special status. It's only natural, I suppose. Circumstances are a little different in our case," he added after a moment. "Seeing that the first woman we loved is the same for both of us. But that's nothing bad. On the contrary: It gives us the chance to treasure Christine's memory _and_ be open for someone new who we know understands us and our feelings completely."

He lifted my left hand, which he was still holding, to his lips and kissed it.

"I love Christine," he said simply. "But I also love you. No one could ever replace either of you. You've got a place in my heart, Raoul, and you'll always have it. Silly boy – how could you ever think something else?"

I might have been silly, but I recognised a rhetorical question when I heard one. So I didn't reply, but merely looked at him.

At last, he let go of me completely.

"I should better go," he told me. "I've given you a lot to think about. If you want to talk about it... Well, you know where to find me." He turned to leave.

I made my decision in an instant.

"No," I called after him. "Don't go. Stay here."


	33. Chapter ThirtyThree

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

Erik turned away from the window to face me again, blinking rather stupidly.

"You want me to stay here... with you?" he repeated slowly, as if the idea was too unbelievable to contemplate.

"Well... yes, I do," I replied, growing hesitant as well. Had I said something wrong? Had I perhaps overstepped an invisible line that I hadn't known about? "You don't have to," I added hastily. "If you'd rather leave..."

"Why should I want to do that?" Erik asked with a smile. "All that awaits me at the opera is an empty house. No, of course I want to stay. I just... I couldn't believe you truly meant it. What about your useless brother? Aren't you afraid he'll come in and find us?"

I shook my head, laughing as the last remains of uncertainty left me. He really wanted to stay with me. It was as simple as that.

"He's not back from the countryside yet," I said. "He never tells me how long he'll stay away. Not that I'd ever ask – the longer he stays, the better for me. I expect he met some pretty girl or another in an inn and is enjoying himself..."

"...unaware that at home, his little brother is doing the same," Erik finished my sentence, grinning in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I didn't know why little things like that affected me this much, but I loved it.

"So," Erik went on after a moment. "This is your room. Would you mind if I had a look around?"

"Don't tell me you haven't already done so while I was downstairs," I remarked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. I knew how curious he was.

He gave me a sheepish smile.

"I might have had a tiny look," he admitted. "Just to pass the time, of course. But I only browsed the books on your bedside table. You have a good taste in books. Have you read a lot of Ovid?"

"Not very much," I replied, beaming with pride because Erik, who as I knew was very well-read himself, had praised me. "Richard gave the book to me. He's the husband of my sister Sophie. He thought I'd enjoy the _Metamorphoses_."

"And, did you enjoy them?" Erik asked.

"Oh yes," I told him. "All those people changing into someone or something else... Echo, Arachne, Philomela... it's fascinating. I've seen it drawn my many artists, but it's even better to read about it."

Erik nodded.

"I've always regarded the changes in appearance as a metaphor for the changes in our lives," he told me thoughtfully. "Have you never felt as if you were transforming into a completely new person?"

"Yes, yes," I agreed eagerly. Now that I thought about it, it could indeed be another reason why I enjoyed the _Metamorphoses_ so much. I could have never expressed my thoughts in such a fitting 

way. It occurred to me once more what an intelligent man Erik was. "I've often felt like that," I went on. "Especially... well, in the last weeks, since you and I... you know. It's strange that nobody else has noticed it how much I've changed."

"Oh, they would notice it if they looked at you properly," Erik remarked. "But they don't. They see what they expect to see. I, on the other hand... I can see it all. It's right in here." He stepped forward and cupped my face in his strong hands. "In your beautiful eyes," he added, gazing at me. His eyes were beautiful as well, shining like molten gold in his pale face. My heart leapt in my chest.

Then his lips were on mine, and I felt as if I were melting, too. Only by wrapping my arms around Erik could I keep myself from swooning like the women in those stupid books I pretended never to have read. I had always thought that such feelings had to be exaggerated, but now I had them myself.

Unfortunately, my embrace seemed to come a little too sudden for Erik. It threw him off-balance, and since I was still holding on to him, we both landed on the bed in a wild tangle of arms and legs, slightly breathless, but grinning all the same.

"Well, well, well," Erik said. "I didn't expect us to end up here quite that quickly. But now that we're already here..."

He rolled me onto my back, pinning me down with his knees as he straddled me. "Perhaps we shall better lock the door," he suggested.

"No," I said. "I... I like it better this way."

I thought back to when we had touched each other on the stage, fuelled by the idea that the chorus girls would be there any moment. It had made me so aroused.

Of course, it would have been highly embarrassing if someone had really walked in on us. Yet I knew that it would not happen. If my brother had taught the servants anything, it was that none of them was allowed to enter the room without knocking and waiting for the permission to enter. I could only remember too well an incident that had involved Philippe, a maid and an elderly seamstress who had nearly passed out with shock at what she had seen. There was no chance of that happening again.

"Daring, are you?" Erik whispered, leaning down to me. "I like it."

I giggled, for his breath was tickling me.

"Do you mock me, boy?" he growled.

Once, the tone of his voice would have scared me, or at least made me very uneasy. Now, however, I saw the laughter in his eyes and heard the playfulness behind the fierce words. It was nothing but a game. A game, as I reminded myself, that two people could play.

"Why, yes," I replied casually. "I am mocking you. I'm mocking you because you came here, all worried that I might not want you anymore. Poor Erik, were you afraid that you wouldn't find anyone else if I left you?"

Erik's eyes narrowed slightly. For a moment, I was sure that I had gone too far, making fun of something that couldn't have been easy for him. I grew tense as I waited for his reaction.

Being the sensitive person he was, Erik sensed my anxiety. He gave me a tiny wink.

When he spoke, however, it was in a lofty sort of voice.

"Whatever made you think that?" he asked, looking down at me. "I came here to appease you, yes, but only because you left before I was finished with you. Would you like to know what I had planned for you and me?"

I nodded eagerly. This game was getting very good.

"I wanted to bend you over the balustrade of Box Five and take you, right there, right then," he told me in a low voice. "Everyone would have seen us. They'd have seen me take you, pound into you from behind. They'd have heard us, too, the lovely music we create together. Would you have liked that?"

The apparent answer was pressed against his thigh, hard and begging for attention.

Erik chuckled.

"I knew you'd have liked it," he said. "But since you decided to leave, we never got the chance to do it. So we'll just have to do it now – without an audience, but with a lovely soft bed instead. Take off your clothes! Quick!"

He rolled off of me. While I hastened to comply, his gaze darted through the room.

"Have you got some sort of lubrication here?" he asked.

"Look into the bedside table," I advised him distractedly, halfway through opening my shirt. I had little hope of him finding anything useful there, but I knew Erik was resourceful. Maybe he would find something after all.

"Aha!" he cried after a minute of rummaging through the drawer. "That will work nicely. Where did you get it?"

"Hm?" I made.

Hastily, I pulled my undershirt over my head and turned to see what he had found. My jaw dropped. He held a bottle of lubricant, similar to the one he himself had owned. How on earth had it got in there?

"I... I didn't get it anywhere," I stammered, utterly confused. "I've never seen that bottle before in my life."

"But..."

Erik stopped himself. He and I had spotted it at the same moment: a small piece of paper tied around the bottle's neck with a bit of string.

"_Lonely nights can be amusing, too. Not that I ever needed it. Philippe_," Erik read out.

"I can't believe it!" I exclaimed angrily. "He's been in my room again! He always does that, no matter how often I – "

"Shh, my love," Erik cut across me. "Don't think about it. For the first and probably the last time in your life, your brother has actually done you a favour. That's the only thing that matters right now."

I smiled. He was right.

"By the way, you're still wearing far too many clothes," he reminded me with a smirk.

"And you," I gave back, grinning as I pulled him to me.

The next minutes passed on a haze of fumbling fingers and flying clothes. It was good that Erik had put the lubricant on the bedside table, or the bottle might have smashed.

When Erik finally straddled me again, I was so excited that I could hardly stand it. My erection, which had disappeared almost completely during the discovery of the bottle, was back. Erik had coated his hands with the lubricant and was moving them up and down my manhood, grinning about the noises I was making.

"If one of your servants was to walk down the corridor now, they'd wonder what you were doing in here," he remarked. "They'd – "

He froze. So did I. I had heard it as well: heavy footsteps, no doubt produced by the one person who never bothered to take off his shoes before thundering over the white carpet. The footsteps stopped outside my room.

"Raoul?" Philippe called. "It is I. I've got something for you."

And he opened the door.


	34. Chapter ThirtyFour

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

Erik reacted more quickly than I had ever seen a person react. While I was still gazing transfixed at the opening door, he rolled off of me and off the bed. Somehow, he managed to throw me the blanket as he went. By the time I had pulled it up to my chin, he had vanished behind the bed.

A second later, Philippe entered the room.

"What on earth are you doing in bed?" he asked.

"I was trying to sleep," I replied hastily, without thinking. I could only hope my voice sounded tired, rather than guilty.

My brother raised an eyebrow.

"At seven in the evening?" he remarked, shaking his head. "You're truly getting stranger by the day."

"As far as I'm informed, I can still sleep whenever I want," I muttered defiantly. "I was exhausted when I came home, so I lay down for a while. And I thought I had told you not to come into my room like that!"

I didn't need to see the annoyingly superior look on Philippe's face to know that I had sounded like a whining ten-year-old boy.

"Oh, come, come, little brother," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "The most daring thing you've ever done in your room was read an adventure story in one of your beloved books. It's not as if I had interrupted anything... oh."

Walking over to my bed, he had stumbled over a pair of trousers. As he looked down, probably noticing for the first time all the pieces of clothing Erik and I had discarded on our way to the bed, a frown appeared on his face. I held my breath. Any moment now, he'd realise what was going on. He'd know I was not alone.

Philippe looked at me, a smirk on his face.

"Raoul..." he said. "Raoul, Raoul, Raoul... There's no need to hide from me. I know exactly what you've been up to, you naughty boy."

"You do?" I asked, in a brave attempt to sound casual, rather than horrified.

"It's very obvious," my brother claimed, picking up a sock from the floor and throwing it back down again. "You were... how shall I put it... enjoying your own company."

Under different circumstances, hearing Philippe say something like that about me would have made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. As it was, however, I could barely suppress a sigh of relief. Now that I thought about it, my worries seemed ridiculous. Philippe didn't know the first thing about my clothes. He couldn't have noticed that some of those on the floor belonged to someone else. He probably just thought I was untidy, leaving the clothes of several days lying around.

"No, I wasn't," I disagreed, not wanting my brother to know how close he had been to the truth.

He winked at me.

"If you say so..." he gave back. "Anyway, whatever you've been doing, stop it and get up. Dinner is ready."

"I'm not hungry," I grumbled. "I told you, I'm tired. Let me go back to sleep."

Instead of leaving me in peace, however, Philippe seized my hand and tried to pull me upwards.

"Up you get," he said. "You can... _sleep_..." He winked again. "...as long as you wish later. But first, you'll have dinner with me."

I knew my brother well. Once his mind was set, he wouldn't give up. I suspected that he had met one of our sisters lately, who had reminded him of his duty to take care of me.

"All right, all right," I agreed, pulling my aching hand out of his grip. "I'm coming. But you could at least turn around while I get dressed."

Still wearing that unpleasant smirk, Philippe did as he was told. I dressed quickly, thinking that there was only one good thing about my situation: My erection had vanished when Philippe had come in, which meant that I could leave the bed without making a fool of myself. Of course, I'd have preferred a rather more pleasant way of getting rid of my erection...

"I'll go with you," I repeated as I was finished, more for Erik's benefit than for my brother's. "But right after dinner, I'll come back here."

Philippe rolled his eyes, muttering something like,

"We'll see about that."

I could only hope that he hadn't planned one of those annoying brother-to-brother talks he forced on me every now and then. I had other plans: After dinner, I'd sneak into the kitchen, put some food for Erik onto a plate and take it to my room, where we'd finish what we had started once he'd have eaten.

My brother and I left the room together, Philippe quickly, I more reluctantly. I couldn't help thinking longingly of what I left behind. No meal, no matter how good, could compare to an encounter with the man I loved.

As we made our way down the stairs, Philippe said,

"There's something I haven't told you yet. I've got a little... surprise for you. It's something I've brought with me from the countryside."

I felt an ominous tingling in the pit of my stomach. There was a certain gleefulness in Philippe's voice that told me his present for me was not the usual gift of eggs or butter he was usually given when he came to visit our land.

"What is it?" I asked suspiciously.

My brother chuckled.

"Oh no, no," he said. "I won't spoil the surprise for you. You'll like it."

I highly doubted it. I rather felt like turning around and going back upstairs, but Philippe, apparently suspecting what I was up to, had seized my upper arm in a firm grip and marched me down the stairs, letting go of me only when we had reached the bottommost one.

I saw the surprise at once. Two pretty girls of about eighteen years, twins by the look of them, both with dark curly hair that cascaded over their shoulders. Their skin was lightly tanned, and there were a few freckles on their small noses. At least they weren't dressed in an identical way. They wore simple sundresses of the fashion I had often seen farmers' daughters wear, one light pink, the other one light blue.

They fixed me with their brown eyes, flashing identical smiled. It was a little unnerving.

"Erm... good evening," I muttered, at a loss for what else to say to two girls who had turned up in our house all of a sudden.

"Good evening," they chorused, curtseying.

Philippe, beaming broadly, stepped between us.

"May I introduce you to my brother?" he said. "Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. Raoul, these are Annabelle..." He indicated the girl in pink. "...and Angelique." He indicated the other girl. "They've never been to Paris, so I invited them to come with me for a few days."

He made it sound as if he had only wanted to do the girls a favour, but I knew better. In all his life, Philippe had never done anything without expecting something for himself in return. Annabelle and Angelique would ride in the best coach and eat in the best restaurants, but they would pay for it, too. Or maybe, I thought as I saw the adoring looks they kept throwing my brother, they had already paid for it and were here for a little more.

"Ah yes," I remarked shortly, not smiling.

I made the silent promise to return to my room as quickly as possible. I despised the way my brother treated women, and I didn't want to have anything to do with it.

Philippe offered each girl an arm, and they made their way to the dining room. I followed them, feeling left out. Not that I had any desire to lead a girl to the dining room myself. But there was someone else I'd have loved to have with me now. Someone who was sitting upstairs, while I was here, unable to get away.

When we reached the dining room, Philippe opened the door for the girls and ushered them inside.

"Make yourselves at home," he said. "Feel free to settle down and pour yourselves drinks. Raoul and I will be with you in a minute." With these words, he closed the door behind them.

"What's the matter?" I asked, slightly annoyed. I wanted to get over with dinner as quickly as possible, and standing outside the dining room would not help me achieve that goal.

"Aren't they lovely?" Philippe remarked, ignoring my question.

"Yes, yes," I replied without enthusiasm. "They're lovely. Just as lovely as all the other girls you bring here."

Somewhere in the house, a door snapped shut loudly. My brother peered over my shoulder hopefully, but when I turned around, no one was there.

"Have you seen Viviana today?" he wanted to know.

I gave a little groan as comprehension dawned on me. Now I knew why he had been looking so hopeful.

"So that's what all this is about," I said slowly. "You're trying to make Viviana jealous. You think that if she sees you with other girls, she'll come running to you and beg you to take her instead of them. Well, that won't work. If Viviana grew jealous of every girl you bring here, she'd have little else to do, and we'd have to hire someone else to do her work."

Secretly, I thought that Viviana would probably be relieved that Philippe was not after her for a change, given what her mother had said – or rather, what she had not said – this afternoon.

My brother merely shrugged.

"I think it'll work," he commented. "And believe me, I know women a little better than you do. Anyway, that is not the only reason why I've brought the girls here."

"I know," I agreed, still not smiling. "The main reason is that you want to lie with them."

Philippe smirked again, looking more unpleasant than ever.

"What makes you think that I haven't already done so?" he asked. "After all, why should I buy a bottle of wine without taking a sip first?"

His casual comparison made me feel faintly sick. I wanted to get away, but Philippe was blocking the corridor, still talking, oblivious to how appalled I was.

"Yes, I've had both of them," he informed me. "And they're rather good. Not as good as some of the older chorus girls I've been with, but quite all right. Annabelle is a little shy, Angelique is more outgoing... but both are very sweet... very eager to please, if you know what I mean." His smile widened. "So," he asked after a moment. "Which one do you want?"


	35. Chapter ThirtyFive

**Author's Note:** This chapter more or less wrote itself. I only had to hold my pen to the paper. So I hurried a bit with the typing and present it to you as a Halloween gift. Happy Halloween, my dear readers!

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

"What do you mean – ´Which one do you want´?" I stammered.

In truth, I knew perfectly well what my brother meant. After all, I wasn't stupid. I just needed a little time to regain my composure, and I thought that asking such a question would give me that time. Besides, I wanted to hear Philippe explain himself.

For a moment, my brother looked puzzled. Then he raised an eyebrow and gave me a knowing smile.

"Oh," he said. "I see. I _see_. You're not such a shy little boy after all, are you? You don't want one girl – you want both!"

It was such an absurd interpretation of my words that I was even more dumb-struck than before. This seemed to be all right with Philippe, for he had already continued speaking without waiting for my reaction.

"Well, if you insist," he went on. "I can't say I'm not glad to hear that you finally realise how much you've got to learn. And of course, you can learn much faster with two girls instead of one. Do you want to do it right now or wait until after dinner? I could call for the girls immediately, and then –"

"No!"

I had found my voice at last. I couldn't possibly let my brother call for the girls and face the embarrassing consequences. I caught him by the wrist before he could open the door.

"All right, all right," he said, still smiling. "After dinner it is, then. Perhaps you should have a drink or two first anyway. You seem rather tense."

I let out a snort of derisive laughter. Of course I was tense! Here I was, having just been dragged out of a wonderful, if brief, encounter with the man I loved, and my brother was trying to push a girl into my bed!

"I will not have either girl," I told Philippe, stressing every single word. "I will not do it. I want you to understand once and for all times that my life is none of your concern."

My brother nodded.

"Yes, you're definitely tense," he said. "You'll forgive me for being so frank, but I think one girl will be more than enough for you, at least at the beginning. It's all right to be nervous, you know. But I have just the solution." He snapped his fingers. "I'll come with you. I can help you. I'll show you how it is done properly. What do you say to that?"

I glared at him. Anger was constricting my throat, making me unable to speak. My mind, however, was working furiously. How could he talk to me like that? How could he treat me like a stupid little boy who knew nothing about nothing? It was he who was stupid!

Never in my life had I felt that insulted. I got along with the person I had chosen to be with very well without my brother's assistance. Erik had always told me that I was good at what I did. We had learned together, and we were learning still. That was the way it was supposed to be, not the ludicrous way Philippe had suggested. How could he assume, even for a moment, that I would let him watch me sleep with a girl?

I couldn't tell him any of my thoughts, for my throat was still too tight for me to speak. But I could at least wipe that smile off his face. With a strangled roar of fury, I seized him by the throat and slammed him into the wall behind him.

Philippe's eyes widened. For the first time, the look of smooth self-confidence vanished.

"What are you doing?" he asked, gasping for breath.

"Keep your mouth shut!" I snarled. "For once in your life, keep your mouth shut and listen to me! From now on, you will leave me in peace. You will not question my way of living, you will not judge me by the number of my lady friends, and you will not bring me girls! Do you understand me?"

My brother nodded.

I released him, breathing heavily myself now. I hadn't known how exhausting it was to restrain someone physically. It was a good thing that I had never got into many fights as a boy. Yet even as I gasped for breath, I felt a wild sort of triumph. I had made him listen to me. I had made him understand. For once, I had stood up to my brother, and it felt fantastic.

I should have known it was all too good to be true. Before I could turn away from him or even decide what to do next, the puzzled expression on Philippe's face had given way to a sneer.

"You just can't bear the thought that I'm right and you're wrong, can you?" he claimed. "I only wanted to be nice to you, to help you be a normal young man, like me. I know you'd love to have one of those girls... or any girl at all. But your stupid pride is keeping you from accepting a favour from me. And why can't you accept it? Because you're jealous of me. You know that you'll never have as many girls as I have. You lie awake at night, imagine the things I'm doing, wishing you could be like me, but you never will."

"Stop!" I called desperately, but he just went on talking, as though he hadn't heard a thing. He had always been good at ignoring me.

"I can't help it that I'm more handsome than you," he said. "I know how to have a good time with a girl, and they sense it. They all want me, Raoul, all of them." His eyes glittered maliciously, and I knew that the worst was yet to come. "Even your little singer Christine wanted me. One night, after the performance – "

"No," I croaked. "She didn't... she wouldn't have... not her..."

"Oh yes," my brother said, sounding utterly delighted. "We ran into each other in the corridor leading to the dressing rooms. I was there to see another girl, but I forgot all about it the moment I saw Christine. Her face was still alight with happiness because she had received so much applause. Her cheeks were flushed, and her chest was heaving... And what a lovely chest it was. Do you remember how tight her costumes were? I could see how excited she was, and she grew even more excited when she saw me. I praised her for her voice and stroked her cheek. Then my hand happened to wander lower..."

I clapped my hands over my ears to block out his horrible voice, and still he wouldn't stop tormenting me. I was too weak to fight again. There was only one thing left for me to do. I ran for it. I pushed past him, not caring what he shouted after me. I fled upstairs and into my room, slamming the door shut behind me. At last, I was safe.

In my haste to get away, I nearly ran headfirst into Erik, who was standing at the door, fully dressed again.

"Raoul!" he said, looking shocked. "Raoul, what has happened? Why are you crying?"

It was only then that I noticed the tears pouring down my face. I tried to wipe them off with my fingers, but more and more kept coming.

Erik pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of his trousers and handed it to me. I dried my eyes a little. In between sobs, I told him all that had happened, right from the moment I had left the room. While I spoke, fresh waves of pain and humiliation washed over me, resulting in even more tears. Soon, my face was as wet as if I had held it under water.

When I was finished, not with crying, but at least with talking, I dared ask the question that had been on my mind all the time.

"Can it really have happened? Did Christine and Philippe ever – ?"

"No!" Erik said firmly. "It never happened, I assure you. I watched Christine walk to her dressing room every night after the performance, to make sure that she was safe from men such as your brother. I'd have seen it and stopped it. And anyway, Christine would have never... not with a vile, evil..."

His voice seemed to fail him, just like mine had done at the idea that Christine and Philippe could have ever been together. I looked up at him to say something consoling, but the words died in my throat the moment I clapped eyes upon him.

Erik had changed. His whole body had grown tense, and his hands were balled into fists. Somehow, he looked much taller than before. Yet the biggest change had happened to his eyes. Little bolts of lightning seemed to be flashing across the golden surface. A shiver ran down my spine. I had seen Erik like that once before, back in the days when he had been nothing but the Phantom to me. I knew what it meant.

"It is enough," he said. His voice was not loud, but so intense and with so much barely controlled fury that it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "That man has insulted the woman I love and the man I love. He has made you cry for the last time. He will not go unpunished."

With a swift motion, his hand darted under his cloak and pulled out a well-used rope.

"I will end it," he said. "Once and for all."


	36. Chapter ThirtySix

**Author's Note:** I wish all my readers a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I hope you'll find some nice Phantom-y presents under your tree!

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

This time, it was I who reacted quickly. Without pausing to think about what I was doing, I stepped between Erik and the door.

He threw me an irritated glance.

"What are you doing there, Raoul?" he asked.

"I'm... stopping you," I replied hesitantly, not sure whether he meant the question seriously. "I... I don't want you to murder Philippe," I added, in case it wasn't obvious enough.

"You know as well as I do that if I wanted to leave this room, I could do so in an instant," Erik remarked coolly. "You can't stop me. But if you insist, we can talk about it first." He gave a little sigh. "I should have known you'd want to talk. You always do."

I smiled tentatively. It was not so much the reminder of our first romantic encounter that made me smile. I didn't feel like thinking about them just now. No, it was more the fact that Erik was willing to talk at all, willing to listen to me. The cold fury had vanished from his eyes, at least for the moment.

Reluctantly, Erik put the Punjab Lasso back under his cloak.

"Talk, then," he said, leaning against the wall next to the door. "Tell me why I shouldn't murder your brother."

"Because... because it wouldn't be right," I answered. It wasn't the best of answers, but it was the only one I could come up with. My mind was still numb with shock that he considered doing such a thing at all.

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"You'll have to do better than that," he told me. "You should have understood by now that my definition of right and wrong is not the same as most people's. I make my own definitions. And according to them, murdering your brother would be perfectly acceptable."

I bit my lip. He was right, of course. As far as I could tell, his version of right and wrong lacked something important, something other people had: the general knowledge that murder, for whichever reason, was wrong. To him, some actions were so terrible that they could only be punished with death.

"I know that in your world, killing is wrong," Erik remarked, almost as if he had read my mind. "But that's only a matter of your upbringing, your religion and your moral standards." He gave a short, humourless laugh. "I'm different," he went on. "I think your brother has hurt you enough."

He moved forwards and cupped my face with his strong hands. A shiver ran down my spine.

"I've heard the way he talks about you," he said gently. "I've heard it in the corridors of the opera. That man is despicable, Raoul. Do you want him to hurt you again and again, until one day, he'll hurt you so badly that you'll see no other way than taking your own life, just to make it stop?"

I stared at him in surprise. How did he do it? How could he know that more than once, I had sat in my room, wondering whether I really was as useless and hopeless as Philippe made it sound and considering the final option? Only the thought of Christine and the knowledge that taking my life would be a sin had always held me back.

"Raoul," Erik breathed, running his fingers over my face. The feather-like touch was strangely consoling. "Raoul, it is all right. I know that the thought of me taking a life upsets you, but it needn't. You won't see it or hear it or have anything to do with it. It won't be difficult. I'll lure your brother out into the street, into a dark corner, and do it there. If you want me to, I'll pretend that it wasn't I who did it. I won't use the Punjab Lasso, but something else, and make it look as if a thief had tried to steal his money. It happens every day in the streets of Paris. It is no problem."

I turned away from him, feeling rather sick. How could he talk of murder in such a cool, detached way, as if it were no more difficult than staging a scene in a play?

"You've grown pale," Erik observed. "You should sit down."

"No..." I protested. "I don't want to."

"Oh, don't be foolish," Erik said briskly. "Would you rather pass out on the floor?"

I allowed him to lead me to the sofa by the fireplace, on which I sank down gratefully. My legs had indeed been shaking.

Erik disappeared from my side for a moment, then returned with a glass of water, which I knew he had filled from the jug on the table. He pressed the glass into my hand. I took a tentative sip and felt the nausea vanish slowly.

"Better?" Erik asked.

I nodded weakly.

"I'm sorry," I began, but he interrupted me.

"It is all right," he assured me. "I've seen it happen before. People who are not used to such topics of conversation often find them disturbing."

Again, I nodded. Disturbing was the right word.

"May I?" Erik asked, indicating the spot on the sofa next to me.

"Sure," I replied. I knew that the conversation was not over yet.

He sat down. For a while, we didn't speak. I drank a little more water, and Erik watched me in silence.

"I can understand that the situation is difficult for you," he said when I had put the glass down again. "Worthless as he may be, Philippe is your brother. It is natural that you are... attached to him."

His voice was a little too matter-of-fact for my taste. He sounded like someone who had only ever read about that kind of feeling in books. But then, could I blame him? I knew that he didn't have any brothers or sisters himself. Perhaps it was asked too much that he should fully understand my situation.

I tried to imagine how I'd feel if Philippe was no longer there, if he was... killed in an accident, for instance, something that didn't involve Erik. There would be no sarcastic remarks anymore, no cruel little comments on my love life. It would be very peaceful. But still... Philippe had always been part of my life. He was my only brother. Even though I sometimes hated what he did to me, I loved him. I could very well imagine not seeing him for a while, maybe even for a long time, but knowing that he wasn't there at all... no. No.

"I don't want Philippe to die," I told Erik flatly. "And I don't want you to murder him. I don't want you to murder anyone... ever again."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You know I have killed before," he reminded me, not unkindly. "It is part of my history."

I nodded. Yes, I knew that he had killed before, but I preferred not to think about it.

Again, Erik seemed to read my mind.

"You can't close your eyes and pretend it has never happened," he said. "I have killed, Raoul. You know about two occasions, and there have been more. I'm not proud of it, but I can't deny that it has happened, and neither can you. If you truly love me, you have to accept it. Do you think you can do that?"

I didn't reply straight away. Staring into space, I forced myself to think about the topic I had always avoided. I saw it all before my mind's eye: I saw Erik and his victim, a nameless, faceless man who had done nothing wrong except being in Erik's way, just like Signor Piangi and who knew how many others. I saw the Punjab Lasso fly through the air, landing right around the man's neck. I almost felt the pain as Erik pulled it more and more tightly.

Did he enjoy the act of killing? No, not in such a case, I decided. It was only a way of achieving his goals. But wasn't that even worse? Moreover, he had killed for revenge, too. Would the murder of Philippe have been something like revenge for how cruelly he had treated me?

In a twisted way that I couldn't quite grasp myself, I almost felt a little proud that Erik would kill for me. I didn't want him to do it at all, of course, but the thought that he wanted to help me was nice. Murder just wasn't the right way of helping me.

Perhaps Erik hadn't had someone like me in the past, someone to tell him that it wasn't the right thing to do. Erik was right: I could not go on pretending that this part of him didn't exist, just because I didn't like it. I couldn't change the past either. But now that I was part of Erik's life, I could try to influence his future actions.

"I can accept it," I replied at last. "At least, I think I can. But only if you promise me one thing: You must never kill again."

This time, it was Erik who didn't speak for a long time. I brought the glass to my lips again, but it was empty. I had just put it on the floor next to the sofa, when Erik cleared his throat. Quickly, I straightened up again.

"There are situations which you cannot imagine," he began slowly. "Situations of life and death... situations in which killing the other is the only way of surviving. But... I know how much it upsets you, Raoul, and I don't want to hurt you. I will try not to kill again. That is the best answer I can give you."

I gave him a little smile. Instinctively, I knew that it was indeed the best answer I could hope for. Erik was so very different from me. I knew that there were situations which I, with my sheltered upbringing, could not begin to imagine, situations in which Erik would have to make difficult decisions. All I could hope was that it would be decisions that I could live with.

"So," Erik said after a moment. "I will not kill that brother of yours then. It's a pity because I was planning to stay for the night..."

"You can still do that," I told him, to my own surprise. "You'll stay here. And if we meet Philippe... I'll tell him where to go! He can bring his hundreds of girls, so I can bring the man I love."

I leaned over and gave Erik a kiss.

"I won't be afraid of him any longer," I promised. "Not now that I've got you."


	37. Chapter ThirtySeven

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

If I had met Philippe that day, I might just have told him about Erik and me. Merely putting it into words in front of Erik had left me positively elated. However, minutes after my bold statement, we heard excited voices in the downstairs corridor, followed by the entrance door opening and slamming shut. My brother couldn't even leave the house quietly.

"Now he's gone," I commented.

Erik smiled.

"So the house is all yours," he remarked. "Would you care to show me around?"

I nodded readily. I knew my brother. If he had taken the two girls to a bar or a similar place, they would not return until the crack of dawn. Erik and I would have the house to ourselves for hours.

I opened the door of my bedroom and led him outside.

"This is my part of the house," I told him. "You already know my bedroom, of course... The bathroom is next to it... There's my study..." I pointed out the doors to him as we walked past them.

Erik didn't show any particular interest in my bathroom, but he went right into the study.

It was not a very big room. Philippe's study was about twice its size, which was somewhat ironic, given how little time he spent in it. The room had once been a guestroom, and my brother had been strongly against turning it into a study for me. Fortunately, my sisters had supported me.

I told Erik the story. He scowled, but held back a remark. Instead, he had a good look at the bookshelves. Most of my collection of fiction was in my bedroom, but I had an impressive amount of books on ships and the sea, which I had inherited from my grandfather. I also possessed quite a few books on foreign countries. Those seemed to be of great interest to Erik. He chose a collection of stories about life in India.

"Have you ever been there?" he asked over the top of the book.

"In India?" I said with a little laugh. "Oh no. I've never been much abroad, except on my naval expeditions, and I have to admit I didn't see a lot of the countries on those occasions."

Erik nodded.

"And still you've got a book that comes from that part of the world," he remarked.

"Oh, more than one," I replied, pointing at the shelf behind him. "I've got at least a dozen."

"I don't mean those," he said, putting the book back. To my surprise, I saw that he was smirking. "I'm talking about a rather different book... one that I found in your bedroom."

I frowned. As far as I could recall, there were no books on India in my bedroom.

"This one," Erik finished.

With a flourish, he pulled something out from under his cloak. I recognised the manuscript I had bought the day before in that peculiar bookshop.

My brow furrowed even more as I tried to comprehend how Erik could have gotten hold of that manuscript. I vaguely remembered that I had put it into the inside pocket of my coat. I supposed that it had fallen out when we had undressed, or that Erik had found it in my pocket when he had been alone in the room. Either way, it was highly embarrassing.

"I... I didn't know it was from India," I stammered. It was the first thing I could think of. "And anyway, I just wanted to... you know... be prepared for... well, being with you... and..."

Erik cut short my stammering by kissing me on the lips.

"You don't have to justify yourself," he said gently. "That's not why I showed it to you. It was just such a curious coincidence to see it again."

"Again?" I repeated. "You've seen it before?"

"Oh yes," he replied. "As a matter of fact, I was the one who translated it into French. I wrote several copies, one of which I left in a bookshop, so it would be enjoyed by others. I suppose that is where you got it from, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"I didn't know you went into that kind of shop," I commented, feeling much less embarrassed.

"I've been there many times," he said. "The owner is a despicable man, but his shop is unique in Paris, and..." He gave a little laugh that sounded almost embarrassed. "Well, let me assure you that in theory, I know all that can happen between a man and a woman... or between two men, naturally. My practical knowledge, however, remains woefully inadequate."

It was strange to hear Erik speak like that. He often was cynical, but I had never heard him speak about himself with such obvious dislike. Quickly, I wrapped my arms around him in a tight embrace.

"That's not true," I whispered. "You're not inadequate in any way. You're a wonderful lover. I couldn't ask for a better one."

Erik returned the embrace with such force that for a moment, I found it hard to breathe. I knew it was his way of saying ´Thank you´, and I tried my best to enjoy it, even though it made my ribs ache in protest.

After a few kisses, Erik released me again.

"Did you find the manuscript helpful at all?" he wanted to know.

"Not really," I replied truthfully. "The parts I read were interesting enough, but when I was actually... you know, doing things with you, I kind of forgot about it and just did what I thought would make you feel good."

I looked at Erik anxiously, but he was smiling.

"It was the same for me," he admitted. "I had read so much about the subject, I had done so much research, but it didn't help me a lot. I just watched you and saw how you reacted to what I did, and then I kept doing what you seemed to enjoy most."

"And it worked," I told him. "You've made me feel better than I ever made myself feel before."

Erik's smile turned into a smirk.

"Would you like me to make you feel good again?" he asked innocently.

"Oh yes," I answered eagerly. I leaned in to kiss him, but he shook his head.

"I have a special idea," he said, taking me by the hand. He led me out of the room and into the corridor. "Where does your brother live?" he wanted to know.

I stopped dead.

"Philippe is not home," I reminded him. "And anyway, I don't want to... do anything with you in front of him. Why should I?"

I searched Erik's face for clues that he was pulling one of his famous pranks, but the smirk was still firmly in place. He seemed dead serious.

"I know he's not home," he said. "But I want to go to his room. I want to take you right in his bed."

I gaped at him. The idea was absurd... and yet...

"Think about it, Raoul," Erik told me in a low, seductive voice. "Think of all the girls who have ended up in your brother's bed. Think of what he asked you to do today. He said that he wants you to enjoy yourself, didn't he? Well, you will enjoy yourself – just not in the way he planned it." He ended his explanation with a satisfied little nod.

A smile spread across my face. The more I heard about the idea, the more I liked it. Philippe would never know what we had done, but I would know it. Every time he'd try to tell me what to do, how to live my life, I'd smile and remember what I had done in his bed with the man I loved. I sensed that it would be a very powerful weapon against Philippe.

"Yes..." I muttered. "Yes... let us do it... now!"

Erik beamed at me.

"So, where do we have to go?" he asked. "This direction or that one?"

"We should go back to my bedroom first," I suggested. "You know, to get the bottle of lubricant..."

"No need for that," Erik remarked cheerfully. "I've got it right here." He patted his pocket. "I always like being prepared."

"You sly old dog, you!" I exclaimed, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder.

Before he could react, I sprinted a few steps, then waited for him to catch up. It didn't take him long. For a man his age, he was in a very good physical condition. If this was what came from being the Opera Ghost, I didn't object to it.

We continued our journey down the corridor in a completely disorderly fashion. Whenever Erik caught up with me, he gave me a rough kiss or touched me in a way that left me completely exhilarated. I'd then break free and run away again, only to let him catch me again a minute later. It was like a highly arousing version of a children's game.

As we went past door after door, I hastily pointed out the functions of the rooms to Erik. After a few minutes, we reached the part of the house that was my brother's and slowed down at last.

"That's Philippe's bathroom... his study... a little kitchen... a guestroom, in case he invites more girls that he can manage at the same time... another guestroom... and this is his bedroom," I said, coming to a halt in front of it.

Erik opened the door and let us inside.

Philippe's bedroom was one of the biggest rooms in the house. Among other things, it was equipped with the most enormous bed I had ever seen anywhere. It was so big that three or four people could have easily slept in it... which, according to Philippe, had happened more than once. Thanks to one of the maids, the bed was made and spotlessly clean.

Before I could take in any more details of the room, however, Erik had picked me up in his arms and laid me down on the bed.

"My beautiful Raoul," he all but purred.

I reached up to open his shirt, but he shook his head.

"Let me do it," he said. "Just enjoy..."

He undressed me and himself. He did it slowly, but I knew him so well that I felt the underlying urgency in each of his motions. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

At last, we were completely undressed. We shared a few kisses, but Erik quickly moved into lower regions of my body. I was shivering with anticipation.

"I've been waiting to do this for hours," he claimed before his lips closed around the tip of my manhood.

For a fleeting moment, I thought how peculiar it was that Erik was doing what a hundred girls must have done for my brother in that very bed. Quickly, however, every thought was erased from my mind. Erik's lips and tongue on me simply felt too good.

It was true that Erik had only learned how to give pleasure from books, but that did not mean that he was bad at what he did. He seemed to remember every moment of when he had pleasured me last time, and he used his knowledge of my reactions back then to improve his performance this time.

Before long, I was moaning and panting, my manhood pulsing between Erik's lips. I was so close to my release... when all of a sudden, Erik stopped and straightened up.

"Not yet," he said with a wicked smile. "I don't want it to happen until I'm inside you."

I nodded impatiently and reached for the bottle of lubricant, which Erik had placed on the bedside table. To my surprise, I found his member already hard and throbbing with need when I approached it with my slippery fingers. I stroked it, gently at first, then more quickly, encouraged by his moans.

After a little while, Erik stopped me... with difficulty, it seemed. I got down on my hands and knees, even though I felt a little anxious about what was to come. I wondered whether it would feel as strange as when we had first done it. Yet it turned out I needn't have worried. Before Erik as much as touched my backside, he reached under me and seized my manhood. Distracted by the sensation of his slippery hand, I barely noticed what the fingers of his other hand were doing. He made it very simple for me to feel comfortable.

"Easy now," Erik muttered.

I could only assume that he was talking to himself, for I wasn't doing anything except enjoying myself. I grew a little tense at his words, but his fingers had prepared me well. He didn't hurt me. It still was a strange sensation to feel him inside me, but it was enjoyable, too.

"Is it... all right?" he asked, his hot breath tickling my skin.

"Yes..." I replied. "Yes... I think you can move now..."

And move he did. It did feel very peculiar at first. Once he had established a steady rhythm, however, he began to move the hand on my manhood again. The rhythm was just right, not too slow and not too fast. It felt amazing.

Between Erik's hand on my member and Erik's member filling me, I couldn't last long. With a wild moan, I found my release. Moments later, Erik came as well, and we collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily. We were too exhausted to talk, but we beamed at each other.

"We should better go," Erik said, once we had regained our breath.

"Go?" I repeated, making a face. I didn't feel like going anywhere. I was much too warm and comfortable here. "Don't worry about Philippe," I added defiantly. "If he comes back and finds us, I'll... I'll just tell him what has happened. I'll tell him that the man I love and I decided to enjoy ourselves in his bed."

Erik smiled, but shook his head.

"As much as I'd love to hear you say that to your brother, I don't think it's such a good idea just now," he told me. "Look at you. You're naked, you're sweaty, and you're tired. It is one of the basic rules for arguments: If you are facing a confrontation, make sure you're in a good position. And this can hardly be called a good position."

"You didn't complain about the position fifteen minutes ago," I reminded him with a grin. "But all right. I understand what you mean. Let us go."

With a lot of sighing and groaning, we heaved our sleepy limbs out of bed and tidied up behind us. There was nothing we could do about the stains I had left on the sheets, but we didn't care. Knowing Philippe, he'd stumble back to his room completely drunk, and by the time he' be sober again, he'd probably think the stains had been made by him.

Neither of us could see any point in getting dressed properly, only to get undressed again in my room, so we borrowed two dressing gowns from Philippe's wardrobe. We put them on and took our clothes with us as we left. At the last moment, Erik remembered to fetch the bottle of lubricant.

Our way back to my part of the house was long and slow. We were much too sleepy to play games this time. The moment the door to my bedroom was closed behind us, we shrugged off the dressing gowns and climbed into bed.

My mattress had rarely felt so soft and inviting. Yet even more inviting was Erik's embrace, which I settled into with a smile. Still smiling, I reached over to him and took off his mask, placing it on the bedside table.

Erik was smiling now, too.

"You're an extraordinary man, Raoul," he whispered.

The face of my beautiful lover was swallowed by darkness as I extinguished the light.


	38. Chapter ThirtyEight

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

_This time, there was no chance to hide or flee. Philippe came straight into my room._

"_Raoul!" he exclaimed, shock etched into every line of his face. "What are you doing there?"_

"_Ph- Philippe," I stammered, pulling the covers right up to my chin. "I... we... we're just... just..."_

"_We're enjoying ourselves," Erik explained patiently. _

_He had sat up as well and was gazing at Philippe with mild curiosity, as if nothing very much out of the ordinary had happened. I couldn't understand how he could be that calm, when I was close to panic. Now he even lifted one corner of the covers invitingly._

"_Would you care to join us?" he asked. "There is plenty of room in this bed for three people."_

_Philippe smiled. It was a smile I had come to hate over the years. It was the expression he always wore when he had got exactly what he wanted. _

"_Certainly," he replied. "I'm always open for trying something new."_

_To my utter horror, he began to take off his clothes and prepared to get under the covers with us. Erik's eyes lit up as he watched him. How well I knew that hungry expression..._

"_Why?" I asked him in an urgent whisper. "Why are you doing this to me?"_

"_You know, Raoul," Erik answered, barely taking his eyes off Philippe. "One lover is all good and well, and I don't deny that you've put a certain... effort into pleasing me. But I've got so much to catch up on. And at least your brother knows what he's doing. Think of how much he and I can learn from each other."_

_With these words, Erik and Philippe began to kiss passionately. I screamed in terror._

"Raoul! Raoul, wake up, you're dreaming!"

My eyes snapped open. Erik's concerned face was inches from mine. But where was...

"Philippe?" I murmured.

"If I had known that it was he whom you want, I wouldn't have bothered waking you up," Erik remarked.

For a moment, I was afraid that I had truly offended him, but when he kissed the tip of my nose gently, I knew that he had only been joking.

"Bad dreams?" he asked.

"Mmm," I made, leaning my head against his chest. "I dreamed that Philippe found us... and joined us... in bed."

Erik gave a shudder.

"A very bad dream," he agreed. "Did I at least introduce him to the Punjab Lasso for his audacity?"

"No," I admitted in a small voice. "You were the one who invited him to join us in the first place."

"Oh..." Erik said. "I see... I see..."

He wrapped his arms around me and held me close to his bony chest.

"My poor boy," he whispered soothingly. "My poor, poor boy... such an awful dream... But you do know that it's utterly impossible, don't you? I'd rather invite the managers and Carlotta into our bed than your brother."

"Would you really do that?" I asked, not entirely comforted by his answer. Didn't it imply that he did want someone to join us, just not Philippe?

"No!" Erik answered in alarm. He seemed to have realised his mistake. "Of course not! Raoul, you must know that I'd never want to be with anyone else. The things that you and I do together... I would never have done them with another person – may they be male or female – and I'm not planning to do them with another person in the future. Do you know why?"

"Because you can't get anyone else?" The hurtful words were out of my mouth before I could hold them back. I hadn't meant for them to sound that bitter, either.

"Oh, I could have got others," he told me. To my relief, he didn't sound angry at my remark. "Maybe I'd have had to pay for my pleasure, maybe not. You probably don't know how much some chorus girls are willing to do for a good part in a production. They'd sleep with the devil himself. And as far as they're concerned, I'm as close to being the devil as it gets."

I opened my mouth to disagree, but he silenced me with a little gesture. He wanted to finish what he had to say.

"The present managers are decent men," he went on. "A little narrow-minded and woefully ignorant when it comes to music, but essentially decent. They've never accepted any chorus girl's offer. But the manager before them and the one before him were different. The more ambitious girls quickly learned to pay for good parts. And some tried it with me. Believe me, I've had plenty of offers, plenty of notes written by girls promising to fulfil my every dream if only I gave them a bigger part in the next production."

I closed my eyes for a moment, wincing. The thought of some nameless chorus girl – whom I imagined small, wiry and giggling, like most of them were – pleasuring my Erik, wrapping her pink lips around his manhood, just like I had done, was very hard to bear.

"I threw every single note into the fireplace, where it belonged," Erik said briskly. "I'd have never let any such girl touch me. Why? Because I wanted someone who'd touch my soul as well as my body. And you're the only one willing to do that. Believe me, those moments in which I laid open my soul for you and you didn't shun me were some of the most important moments in my life. Much more important than any kind of physical affection."

I found myself smiling. His words felt like a declaration of love. Still, there was something troubling me.

"What about Christine?" I asked quietly. "You'd have shown her your soul, wouldn't you?"

Erik took a deep breath.

"I would have done it, yes," he replied slowly. "But... honestly, I'm not sure whether she'd have been able to cope with it. She was so fragile, so delicate. I'd have been scared that in the process of laying open my soul, I'd have destroyed hers."

"You weren't afraid that you might have destroyed me," I pointed out.

"You're not that fragile," he gave back. "I know that you've been brought up to think of yourself as a stupid child, but you're not. You can take more than you think you can. It's all in your eyes, and in your soul. I saw it there when you first stood before me after Christine's death, and I was right."

I hardly dared breathe, afraid of ruining the moment. Could it really be that there was an aspect of life in which Erik thought me to be superior to Christine? The idea seemed almost sacrilegious, but thrilling, too.

"I love you," I murmured against his skin.

"And I love you," Erik said, kissing the top of my head. "Would you like to go back to sleep for a while now? You seem tired."

"I don't want to sleep," I told him. It would have been foolish to waste any more time sleeping when I was lying in bed with the man I loved.

"Well, what would you rather do?" he asked. "Get up?"

"Oh no," I answered. "It's much, much too early for that."

I let my hand trail down his chest suggestively.

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't it too early for that, too?" he wanted to know teasingly.

His own body answered the question. As I draped my leg over his, I felt the beginning of an erection brush my thigh.

"Apparently not," I remarked, grinning.

"I quite agree," Erik muttered, sounding a little breathless.

I smiled to myself and moved under the covers. It was rather dark, and I couldn't breathe all that well either, but it was worth it. I found Erik's manhood in a half-erect state and wrapped my lips around it lovingly. Erik rewarded me with a soft moan.

I had the distinct impression that I was getting better at what I was doing. I knew how to move my lips and tongue in order to make him enjoy it. Erik seemed to share my opinion, for he was moaning in a very satisfactory way. Just listening to him made me hard, too. I tried to rub myself against the mattress to relieve at least a little of the tension.

After a few minutes, I felt Erik grow tense. With a little cry of my name, he found his release. Quickly, I moved to lie next to him again and kissed him gently, while he beamed at me. We kissed for a little while, till Erik had found his breath again. He then took over my position under the covers, and I prepared to enjoy myself.

And enjoy myself I did. It occurred to me that if Philippe had come in now – which was impossible, for we had locked the door – he'd have had something to look at: his little brother lying in bed, moaning and gasping, while someone under the covers was clearly giving him immense pleasure.

The thought of the look of surprise and possibly jealousy on my brother's face sent me straight over the edge. I had to hold my hand over my mouth to stop myself from shouting out Erik's name for the whole world to hear. But then, it was one of those moments in which I wouldn't have cared if the whole world had heard me. I was too happy.

"I want every morning to start exactly like this," I declared, as soon as Erik had come out from under the covers again.

"Exactly like this?" Erik wanted to know, running a hand over my backside and grinning at me.

"Well, there's always room for variations," I corrected myself. "There are quite a few other things I'd enjoy."

I gave an involuntary little yawn.

"Would you like to sleep now?" Erik asked. "You've earned it."

Before I could answer, there was a hesitant knock on the door.

"M. le Vicomte?" a girl's voice called. I recognised the maid Viviana. "There's a message for you."

"Don't come in!" I called at once, even though the door was still locked. "I'm... I'm not decent. Just tell me what the message is, will you?"

"Your sister Sophie invites you to have tea with her and your sister Clarille at her house today at three o' clock," Viviana said. "The messenger is still waiting outside. What shall I tell him?"

"Tell him I'll be there," I replied. "And tell him..." I threw Erik a significant glance. "Tell him I'll bring a guest."


	39. Chapter ThirtyNine

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

Erik managed to contain his astonishment precisely until we had heard Viviana's footsteps disappear down the corridor and he could be sure we wouldn't be overheard. It was only then that he addressed me.

"Are you serious?" he asked in a low voice.

"Quite serious," I assured him, nodding.

To my own surprise, I felt that I was indeed serious about it. I couldn't have explained how, but I simply knew it was the right thing to do.

"I want to introduce you to my sisters," I went on. "They're lovely. You'll like them, and they'll like you."

"Oh, I already know them," Erik gave back with a faint smile. "At least I've seen them at the opera with their husbands. They do appear to be lovely, yes. They must be a lot like your mother, just like you, whereas your brother is more like your father."

"You knew my father as well?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I didn't need to ask about my mother. She had died before we had even set foot in Paris.

Erik shook his head.

"I've never met him," he told me. "But I've heard enough about him from people at the opera to know that he was the kind of man whom I'm very glad never to have met."

I wasn't sure what to say about that statement. It had a kind of finality that made me wonder whether he expected a reply at all. Moreover, it was perfectly true. My father had been a cruel, sarcastic man, and Philippe was like him in many ways. Not for the first time, I pondered on how different my life would have been if it had been my father instead of my mother who had died early. I was certain that my childhood would have been a lot happier.

"That is why I want you to meet my sisters," I said, eager to stop talking – or even thinking – about my father. "They are wonderful women, each in her own way."

"Why don't you tell me more about them?" Erik suggested, smiling kindly.

We settled down comfortably, leaning against soft pillows, my head resting lightly on Erik's shoulder. It was a very nice position for talking.

"Sophie is the oldest," I began. "She has always taken good care of me. She was the one who reminded me to change my socks when they were wet, who looked after me when we went to the park and who helped me whenever she could. I had a nursemaid, of course, but I liked Sophie a lot better."

"Naturally," Erik agreed.

"Clarille is not much older than me," I continued my story. "When we were little, we often pretended that we were twins, with Sophie as our mother. Clarille and I played together all the time. For a while, we also had the same teacher, a very nice woman, till my father decided that she wasn't strict enough to teach a boy. I had to share a teacher with Philippe instead. Believe me, he _was_ strict enough." The mere memory made my backside throb painfully.

As if he had read my mind, Erik seized my hand and held it tight. I understood him: He asked me to go on talking, but he wouldn't force me to reveal anything I wasn't comfortable with.

"By then, Sophie had finished her education," I told him. "She offered to teach me, but our father wouldn't hear of it."

"Of course not," Erik muttered. "He wanted to control every part of your life."

"He wouldn't have had the time to do that in person," I disagreed. "It was more that he paid others to control us. He always wanted to control everything. We were never allowed to do as we pleased. Well, my sisters and I weren't. Philippe had a way of doing what he wanted and getting away with it. He's still very good at it."

Erik merely nodded. I could tell that he had a lot to say both about my father and my brother, but he held back for my sake. I was glad about it. I didn't need anyone to tell me that they hadn't been very nice people. I knew it myself. It was a sign of Erik's sensitivity that he considered my feelings instead of simply speaking his mind.

"Anyway," I went on, closing the door to my childhood with a determined nod. "My sisters are married, but I don't think we'll meet their husbands. They're very busy men. It'll be just my sisters and us."

"I see," Erik mumbled. He didn't appear to be very happy.

"Do you think that what I did was wrong?" I asked him anxiously. "I didn't really think about it. But if you'd rather not come, I could always go alone. I could tell my sisters that you've had an urgent appointment or something like that."

"I don't know if it was wrong," he replied. "I just... don't know..."

His voice was so full of doubts that I sat up and looked at him. He looked doubtful, too, with his brow furrowed, creating a deep line between his eyes. It was only then that I noticed that he hadn't put on his mask yet. It made him look even more serious, though I couldn't have said why. It gave me a secret thrill of pleasure to realise that I felt no horror looking at his face, but I knew it would have been an unwise thought to share with Erik.

"As what exactly are you planning to introduce me to your sisters?" he asked me.

"What do you mean?" I wanted to know, wrong-footed by his question, which had interrupted by own musing.

"Well, you've got to tell them something, even before they see me," he explained. "_This is Erik, my..._ Your what, Raoul? Your friend? Business associate? Lover?"

My eyes grew wide as understanding dawned on me. I hadn't thought that far ahead. As much as I wanted to tell someone about Erik and me, I knew it might cause enormous trouble. It would mean that I'd have to reveal that I preferred men to women, for a start. I had no idea what Sophie and Clarille thought of such men, but I had got an inkling of their husbands' opinion, and it had been quite enough for me.

"It doesn't matter," Erik interrupted my thoughts dismissively. "The moment they see me, they'll know just who I am. You won't get the chance to say a word of introduction. They'll have me thrown out before you can as much as open your mouth. I can count myself lucky if they don't have me arrested by the police."

I could have kicked myself. Just how thoughtless had I been? Of course my sisters knew Erik, even though they had never met face to face. All the people who frequented the opera (and quite a few who did not) knew the Phantom. I doubt they'd be happy to welcome into their house a man who had killed two people and nearly murdered me, too.

My doubts seemed to show on my face, for Erik said,

"I am sorry, Raoul. I'm not the kind of lover you can take home and proudly present to your family. If that is what you are looking for, I'm afraid I'm not the right kind of person."

"You _are_ the right kind of person for me," I stressed. "You are the only one I want. You're kind and gentle and selfless and – "

"Oh, stop it," Erik chided me, slapping me playfully on the shoulder, though he looked rather pleased. "I am working so hard on being known as the cruel, heartless Phantom, and now you want to tell everyone how friendly I am?"

"Yes!" I agreed eagerly. It struck me how right he was. "Yes, that is just what I want to do. You think that my sisters will hate you because they already know you, but they don't know you at all. They only know the bad things about the Opera Ghost, and most of them are only rumours. I didn't know you properly myself before we started to... erm, get to know each other better."

Erik grinned knowingly and nodded. He seemed to understand what I was trying to say.

"Many people wouldn't get the difference," I went on, amazed that the more I spoke about it, the more I understood it myself. "They wouldn't understand that a person is more than the part they can see at the first glance. Take Philippe, for instance. He's only interested in himself, not in other people. To him, Christine would have only ever been a mere chorus girl, even if he had known her for years. And you would never be more than a murderer to him. Why should I bother telling him about our wonderful love? He's not worth it."

Again, Erik nodded.

"But my sisters are not like that," I concluded. "They're always interested in their fellow people. I want to tell them about our love, and I'm sure they'll understand it."

"What if they don't?" Erik asked quietly.

"I'm prepared to take that risk," I replied, trying to sound bold. "I have to. I want to tell someone how happy I am with you. And if they don't understand it at first, I'll go on explaining it until they do."

Erik smiled. It was a beautiful smile that lit up his whole face.

"All right," he agreed. "I'll come with you. But I'll have to go back to the opera and freshen up first. There are a few other things I'll have to do this morning, too."

I nodded.

"Do you have to leave right now?" I wanted to know.

"Hmmm," Erik made, scratching his chin. "Perhaps I could be persuaded to stay just a little longer. It depends on how you'd like to persuade me."

I smiled, moving in to kiss him.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Author's Note:** I am ever so sorry that I didn't update sooner. I moved to a different country and started a new job. As you can imagine, it was a very hectic time. Thanks for your patience!

**Chapter Forty**

Unlike Erik, I didn't have anything in particular to do that morning. After he had left, I stayed in bed for a little while, lost in daydreams about all the nice things that had happened that day and the day before. I came to the conclusion that in the end, it had all turned out rather well. Erik and I had not been discovered by anyone, and even though we were not together at the moment, I knew that we'd meet again soon.

It was my growling stomach that finally gave me the impulse to get up. Stretching and yawning, I dragged my reluctant body out of bed. A glance on the clock told me that it was past ten. Luckily, I could have breakfast whenever I pleased. The cook was used to my brother ordering his meals at whichever time the mood took him, so I was fairly certain she'd do the same for me, especially since I was rather friendlier and more polite than Philippe.

I put on fresh underwear and my dressing gown, combed my hair with my fingers and was almost at the door when I realised that I couldn't leave the room like that. Some distant part of my mind had recalled just in time that somewhere in the house, there were Philippe and the two girls, Annabelle and Angelique. I didn't want them to see me with so few clothes on. On the other hand, I was very hungry. The thought of going into the bathroom first made my stomach groan in protest.

I sat down at the edge of my bed, considering my options. Sometimes, Philippe didn't bring the girls home with him once he had played with them. He had his way with them in the back room of an inn or even an alley and then left them there. I was so well-informed about my brother's habits because, unlike me, he didn't find them in the least despicable and told me about them freely.

So maybe Annabelle and Angelique weren't in the house. It was a good thought, but it had one fundamental flaw: The girls were from the countryside. Philippe's manners were anything but good when it came to dealing with women, but even he knew better than to leave two girls on their own in Paris at night. No, I was sure that he had brought them along to our home.

This left me with no alternative. Trying my best to appease my aching stomach by putting my hand over it, I opened the door and crept down the corridor to my bathroom. Philippe's part of the house had its own bathroom, so the chances of meeting him or the girls were slim, but I didn't want to risk it. Luckily, I didn't meet anyone.

Once I was safely inside the bathroom, I washed quickly and put on the clean clothes that I had brought with me. It hadn't been easy to make up my mind as to what to wear. On the one hand, I knew that my sisters expected me to be well-dressed. On the other hand, I didn't want Philippe to think that I had made an effort in order to impress the girls. In the end, I had decided for a simple, yet elegant white shirt and black trousers.

All in all, it didn't take more than a quarter of an hour, but it felt much longer. My stomach was anything but happy. I hadn't known it could be so impatient. Spending the night with the man I loved and having serious discussions with him really seemed to make me hungry.

I left the bathroom and went along the corridor and down the stairs, walking more freely, now that I was fully dressed. I met no one but a maid, who greeted me cheerfully. I smiled to myself. I knew that all our servants liked me much better than my arrogant, often temperamental brother. Unlike him, I had never seen the point in shouting at people in order to demonstrate my power over them.

I continued my way to the dining room, growing more hopeful with every step. So far, I had neither seen Philippe nor the girls. Maybe they were still asleep or had already left the house. My brother's ideas were as unpredictable as his temper. He could get up very early when the mood took him. Perhaps he had decided to show the girls a little more of Paris before he sent them back to their home.

My hopes were shattered the moment I entered the dining room. Philippe was sitting at head of the table with the morning paper. Hearing someone enter the room, he looked up at me.

"Ah, Raoul," he greeted me. "Awake already, are we?"

"Apparently yes," I muttered.

I briefly considered turning on my heel and leaving the house, eating at a café, but I knew it was pointless even to think about it. Now that I was here, there was no getting back. Every now and then, I had to talk to my brother.

With a barely audible sigh, I sat down at the table. Philippe rang a bell, and the cook appeared.

"Good morning, M. le Vicomte," she greeted me.

I could feel her eyes linger on my face longer than they'd have usually done. With a start, I recalled that the last time she had seen me, I had almost been in tears, mourning the loss of Erik's love. Surely she was eager to know if I felt better now. I gave her a wide smile in order to tell her without words that I was all right.

"Good morning," I gave back. "I would like to have some breakfast. And coffee, please."

"Of course," she said, nodding as she left the room.

"You shouldn't be so friendly to the servants," Philippe remarked over the top of his newspaper. "They might get used to it, and then what will happen?"

"Yes, what will happen?" I echoed mutinously. "Perhaps they will feel a little better about themselves and their work. Would that be so horrible?"

"If I decide to make a servant – or should we say, a maid – feel better about herself, I will certainly not do so with words," my brother said.

I couldn't see his self-satisfied smile behind the newspaper, but I knew it was there. Involuntarily, my hands clenched into fists under the table. I hated the way Philippe spoke of the maids, as if they were lucky if they got the chance to end up in his bed.

I knew better. As far as the gossip I sometimes heard in the corridors was to be believed, there were some maids who actually enjoyed being chosen as the mistress of the Comte de Chagny. Philippe seemed to be an attentive and skilled lover, who was capable of giving pleasure as well as receiving it. But that was just the point: First and foremost, he thought of his own pleasure. If a girl didn't do what he wanted, he was quick to throw her out or to treat her so cruelly that she left on her own accord. I knew that it had happened more than once before I had been old enough to do something about it.

"No need to be jealous, little brother," Philippe said. Like always, he had misinterpreted my silence completely. "I'm sure that if you tried really hard, you could get yourself a nice little maid, too. Or would you rather I helped you? Which one would you like? You can have anyone but Viviana. I want her first."

I could only gape at Philippe. I had never met another person who was so utterly incapable of accepting that not everyone in the world had the same opinion and feelings as they did.

"Stop it," I finally managed to get out, and not a moment too soon.

The cook had re-entered the room, carrying a large tray. I threw her an anxious glance. Had she heard how Philippe had spoken of her daughter? Her face was perfectly smooth, free of any kind of emotion. I looked at my brother instead, but he seemed unperturbed. It was another reason why I couldn't stand the way he treated our servants: To him, they were like pieces of furniture, incapable of an own opinion or emotions. Knowing him, he might even have momentarily forgotten that Viviana was the cook's daughter, like he forgot so many things that didn't concern him directly.

There was silence while the cook put a variety of plates in front of me and filled our cups with coffee. It was only when she had left that Philippe continued the conversation.

"So, which one do you want?" he asked, as if we had never been interrupted.

"None of them," I replied tersely.

"All right, all right," he agreed, giving me what he probably thought was an understanding smile. "None of the maids, then. I see. You are sorry that you missed your chance with the twins, aren't you?"

A defiant ´No!´ was on the tip of my tongue, but I held myself back just in time. I knew that it was pointless. If I denied it, Philippe would only think that I didn't want to admit it and annoy me more with his stupid encouragement. I decided that if I wanted to have breakfast anytime before Christmas, it was time for a little distraction.

"Where are they, anyway?" I asked, trying to sound interested, but not too eager.

"Still upstairs," my brother answered. "After last night, they were a little sleepy, if you know what I mean."

He winked at me. For the second time that day, I resisted the urge to punch him. Instead, I forced myself to ask,

"So, what have the three of you been up to last night?"

It was all the encouragement Philippe needed. He launched into the story with great enthusiasm, and I could finally start having breakfast. The food was excellent: crisp rolls, sweet jam and honey and an assortment of delicious pasties. The coffee was hot, strong and warmed my whole body from the inside.

The meal would have been even better without the background noise of Philippe's story. I tried my best not to listen, but it was hard work. The food alone, no matter how good it was, didn't manage to distract me completely. I didn't hear every word of the story, but I got the gist of what had happened, and it disgusted me.

Before Erik and I had become lovers, I might have taken the disgust as a sign of jealousy. Yes, I had sometimes been jealous of Philippe, even though I would have rather swallowed my tongue than admit it to him. It had simply been the fact that he got to do so many things I did not.

These days, however, my disgust had rather different reasons. It wasn't so much what Philippe and the girls had done, but the way he spoke of it. In vain, I searched for signs of love or at least affection or tenderness in the story – anything to indicate that Annabelle and Angelique had meant something to my brother, that he had not simply chosen them because they had been at the right place at the right time and looked pretty enough. The way Philippe talked, it might as well have been any other girls.

I watched my brother as he ate, watched him boast and brag. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes shone with excitement. Quite suddenly, I felt something I had never felt for him before: pity. Philippe had no idea that he was missing something. I wondered if he would ever realise. If he did, it might already be too late to find someone, that one special someone. It would be too late to find his Erik.

I smiled to myself, almost a little sadly. I knew it would have been a waste of breath to point out that gap in my brother's life. He would have never understood it. He would have laughed at me, called me hopeless and a dreamer... or worse.

But my sisters would understand me. The sudden thought made me cheerful again. Sophie and Clarille had both found the love of their lives in their husbands. They may not understand about why it was that particular person who made me so happy, but they'd understand about love. I felt full of hope. Perhaps it had not been such a bad idea to invite Erik along after all.

"Raoul? Raoul!"

I looked up at Philippe and realised that in the end, I had managed to think of something else altogether after all. I also realised that I was scratching the plate with my fork, even though the food had long since disappeared in my mouth.

"Can't you even appreciate a good story?" Philippe asked in exasperation. "I assume you didn't hear my question either. I asked if you want to go upstairs and wake up the girls. Maybe you'd get a little love after all."

He smirked.

I smiled at him pleasantly. A little love – he didn't even know what the word truly meant.

"No, thank you," I declined his offer. "I'm afraid I have an appointment that can't wait, and I'm running late already. And in the afternoon, I'll go and meet Sophie and Clarille. We will see each other later."

I got up from the table. Before Philippe had as much as opened his mouth to speak, I had left the room.

**Author's Note II:** Shortly after I had finished this chapter, I was reminded of a "Monk" episode, "Mr. Monk and the Birds and the Bees", in which Mr. Monk encourages Julie, his assistant's daughter, to wait for her special someone. He calls it her "Trudy", after his beloved dead wife. In the name of Mr. Monk and of Raoul, I feel the need to encourage you, too. I firmly believe that there is a special someone out there for all of us. Sometimes, it feels that we will never find them, but that's not true. We will find them, sooner or later. I found him, just when I had given up hope, and I am more than happy about it. So don't give up. Just my thought of the day. Yours sincerely, Jenny Wren


	41. Chapter FortyOne

**Author's Note:** An early present for you! Merry Christmas to you all!

**Chapter Forty-One**

"You never cease to amaze me, Raoul," Erik said, giving me an appreciative clap on the shoulder.

I beamed with pride. I had just told him about the conversation with Philippe, and, unlike my brother, Erik saw the amusing side of it.

"I can just imagine it," Erik went on. "Your brother sitting at the table, staring after you as you leave. He's probably still sitting there, waiting for you to come back and apologise."

"That is possible," I agreed. "But he'll have to wait for a very long time. I have no reason to apologise. That is the nice thing about it. I didn't even have to raise my voice, and still I managed to say what I wanted to say."

"That," Erik remarked. "Is the true art of having a conversation. Anyone can shout. Yet only those of us who are wise manage to bring their point across in a civilised manner."

If possible, my smile grew even wider. Erik had called me _wise_. I liked it a lot. In order to enjoy the feeling a little longer, I didn't respond straight away, but glanced out of the window at the trees as we passed them.

When I had gone to meet Erik at the opera, he had already been standing outside the side entrance in the street, next to one of the opera's coaches. The day was so warm that an open carriage would have been more pleasant, but I could understand why Erik had chosen a coach instead. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact that we were travelling together. Doubtlessly, the coachman would receive enough money to forget all about it.

We had only been travelling for a few minutes, just enough for me to finish my story. It would still take us at least half an hour to reach the house in which my sister Sophie and her husband Richard lived since their wedding. Personally, I suspected that Richard had only chosen a house that was so far away from Paris because the hustle and bustle of the noisy streets didn't leave him the peace to think. Sophie didn't mind having no close neighbours. While Richard worked, she read a good book or knitted clothes for the baby. My sister and her husband were a perfect match. I couldn't imagine either of them with someone else.

I shared those insights into their family life with Erik. He nodded and smiled, but I couldn't help thinking that he seemed preoccupied with something. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes looked worried. I felt a tiny thrill of pleasure that I was able to read his mood that well, yet it vanished quickly when I pondered on what was wrong with him.

"Would you rather have me stop?" I asked hesitantly. "Or would you prefer talking about something else?"

"No, no," Erik replied with a little sigh. "It is quite all right..."

Even if I hadn't known him well, I would have been able to tell that it was most certainly not all right. Yet strangely, the fact that he didn't bother lying properly in order to disguise his feelings made me bolder to ask about them.

"Are you worried about meeting my sisters?" I wanted to know.

He nodded.

"I know it's stupid," he muttered. "We've talked about it before, and I agreed to meet them, so there is no point in worrying about it now."

As a person who frequently worried about a lot of things, I found that statement rather peculiar. But then, Erik was not like me. He was used to making a decision and sticking with it.

"It's still not too late," I reminded him gently. "There's a village a few miles down the road. If you want to, we can tell the driver to stop there. You could hire another coach and go back to Paris, and I'll visit my sisters alone."

Erik shook his head. For a masked, middle-aged man, it was remarkable how much he looked like a stubborn five-year-old.

"I know how much it means to you," he told me quietly. "But that is just the problem."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I couldn't see any problem about it.

"Your sisters are the most important people in your life," he began.

"Apart from you," I interjected.

Erik acknowledged my remark with a nod, but the expression on his face was still grim.

"Indeed," he said. "Think about it, Raoul. Doesn't the situation seem somewhat familiar? You and I were the most important people in Christine's life. We forced her to make a decision between us, and it broke her heart. What if your sisters don't approve of me? What if it comes to making a decision between them and me?"

He gazed at me intently. I felt myself break out in a sweat. It was not a topic I wanted to think about. Not unless I had to, anyway. It still made me feel guilty to think about the decision Erik and I had forced Christine into. I had won, but I was honest enough to know that she had never been completely happy. The struggle for her heart had ripped it to pieces. Would the same happen to me?

"I'm sure my sisters will approve of you," I muttered, but I could tell that my words held little comfort. "And if they don't, I... I..."

"What will you do, Raoul?" Erik prompted. "Will you choose your sisters, who have been there for you for all your life? Or will you choose an ugly old man, whose clumsy touch is but a poor substitute for the love of a woman?"

"Stop it!" I hissed. The sudden sharp tone of my voice surprised me as much as it seemed to surprise him. "I will not listen to you insulting me any longer."

"But I was not insulting you," he mumbled.

"Oh yes, you were," I contradicted him. "You insulted my love for you. I don't love an ugly old man with a clumsy touch."

"Well, you quite obviously do," he said, gesturing at himself.

"I don't," I told him flatly. "Do you know who I love? I love a kind man. I love a patient man. I love a passionate man. I love a man who loves me just the way I am. I love you, Erik, and I always will. No matter what happens with my sisters. No matter what someone else might say."

"Show me?" he asked in a small voice.

I nodded. A brief glance out of the window showed me that we still had miles and miles ahead of us before we'd reach my sister's house. There would be nothing to disturb us. Quickly, I swung my leg over Erik's lap, straddling him. His surprised smile changed into pure delight as I started kissing him. I poured all my love into the kiss. I knew how much it meant to him and also to me.

Yet I wanted to do more than just kiss him. Christine had kissed him, and still she had left. Instinctively, I knew that he needed more. I pushed my hips against his and felt the growing bulge in his trousers. I fervently wished that we had more time and more space, so we'd be able to make love, but it was just not possible. Still, there was something I could do.

I slid down his lap and onto the floor. There wasn't much space between the two benches, but I managed to squeeze in between them. I could feel Erik's curious gaze follow me. It was clear that he couldn't make up his mind if I wanted to continue our romantic encounter or had simply dropped something onto the floor. Smiling up at him, I placed a hand on the bulge in his trousers, making my intention perfectly clear. He gasped.

"Raoul..." he breathed, his voice somewhere between incredulity and joy.

Nimbly, my fingers strolled upwards and opened his trousers. Once freed from his underwear, his manhood sprang forth. I gave it a loving kiss, eliciting another gasp from Erik. Smiling to myself, I began my task.

It didn't often happen in my life, but sometimes, I managed to do the right thing at the right time. As soon as I started, I knew that I was indeed doing the right thing. I was proving to Erik that I loved him. I wasn't stupid, though. I knew that there were a thousand other ways of proving myself to him. I also knew that under different circumstances, Erik would have neither needed nor demanded proof of my feelings. But just now, when he felt so desperately insecure, he needed it. He needed to feel my lips on his velvety skin, needed to feel his member in my mouth, needed to watch me giving him pleasure. He needed that act of selflessness on my part. It was the least I could do.

It was over much too soon. With a muffled cry, Erik found his release. I swallowed most of his seed, then I used my handkerchief to clean him and me. When I sat down next to him again, Erik rewarded me with a long kiss.

"Thank you," he whispered. "That was wonderful."

"I enjoyed it, too," I assured him. "It was – "

I was interrupted abruptly as the door was pulled open and the coachman peered inside. Behind him, I could see my sister's house. Thank goodness I was no longer crouching on the floor!


	42. Chapter FortyTwo

**Chapter Forty-Two**

Erik let me lead the way up to the house. It was a strange feeling to have him walk behind me. In the opera, he had always been the one to walk in front of me, the one who knew where we were going. Yet this was not the opera, but the house of my sister and her husband, who were almost complete strangers to Erik. He was not in control here. I could only begin to imagine how uncomfortable he must feel.

I would have liked to give Erik's hand a reassuring squeeze, but even as we stood in front of the entrance door, he was behind me. I didn't know if he did it out of courtesy or because he was hoping to hide behind me, but I was starting to feel apprehensive myself. Could something that made him that upset really be the right thing to do?

I didn't get the chance to think about it. In that moment, the door flew open, even though I hadn't used the knocker, and I was enveloped in a tight embrace.

"Raoul!" Clarille squealed, holding me at arm's length. "It is so good to see you."

"And you," I gave back. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," she said, beaming. "It's a wonderful dress, isn't it? Alexandre brought it home from Italy."

She let go of me and smoothed out a crease in the pale pink silk. I followed the movement of her hand and noticed that her stomach seemed to have grown bigger since the last time I had seen her.

I found myself beaming as well. My sister's apparent happiness was contagious. It had always been like that, ever since we had been children. When one of us was happy, the other one would hasten to adopt the same mood.

"Didn't you say that you'd bring someone with you?" Clarille added after a moment, peering over my shoulder.

I smiled to myself. My sister had always been the most curious member of our family. It only seemed natural that she'd ask about the visitor straight away. I also knew that she'd be the easier one of my sisters to talk to, so I was glad that she was first.

The smile froze on my lips as I turned around. The doorstep behind me was empty. Erik had disappeared.

"I did bring someone," I told her, struggling to keep my voice calm, even though disappointment threatened to overwhelm me at any moment. "Maybe he... forgot something in the coach and had to go back, " I improvised hastily.

"Maybe," Clarille agreed, nodding.

Someone who didn't know her well wouldn't have noticed the difference in her expression, but I saw that there was something forced in her smile now. It was almost as if I could read her mind. She had hoped so much that I'd bring a girl with me. The moment I mentioned that my companion was male, she must have assumed that it was just another business partner. And now that Erik had left, there was little point in correcting her.

"Shall we go inside?" I asked.

"Yes," Clarille replied, taking my arm. "If your companion arrives, he will be shown straight into the sitting room. I'll make sure the maid is informed."

She was trying so hard to make it easy for me, but it had quite the opposite effect. The nicer she was, the more miserable I felt. Why hadn't Erik stayed? I knew he had been apprehensive, but we had talked about it, and I had honestly thought I had managed to calm him down. Apparently, I had been wrong. He had seized the first opportunity to run for it.

Clarille and I made our way down the corridor. My sister chatted about this and that, and I managed to throw in a word every now and then. I had so been looking forward to seeing her and Sophie again, but now that Erik wasn't with me, there seemed to be little point in my visit. It was rather like reading a story, only to find that one's favourite part was missing.

When we reached the sitting room, Sophie was already standing at the door.

"Raoul," she greeted me. "How nice it is to see you. You don't come here often enough."

She pulled me into a brief embrace, which saved me from having to give a reply. It was true that I didn't see my sisters as often as we'd have liked to. There always was so much to do, both for them and for me.

As Sophie let go of me, I noticed that her stomach was even bigger than Clarille's. However, they both had the same air of radiant beauty and perfect happiness around them. Being with child suited them very well. After their wonderful weddings and moving to their lovely new homes, it had been the next step. I wondered fleetingly why my life wasn't that easy. Maybe it was because I was a man. Or maybe it was because I was too peculiar.

Suppressing a sigh, I tried my best to focus on my sisters. This was not the moment to wallow in self-pity. That was not why I had come here.

"Didn't you want to bring a guest?" Sophie asked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Clarille shaking her head vigorously. When I turned into her direction, she hastily pretended to brush a strand of hair out of her face.

"Raoul's companion was held up," she explained. "He might join us later."

Sometimes, it was almost frightening to see how similar my sisters were. For a brief moment, Sophie's face fell, just like Clarille's had done, only to be forced into an unconvincing smile.

"That is nice," she remarked. "Who is he? Anyone we know?"

I knew I could have told them about Erik, even though he was not there. But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to doing so. When I had imagined telling them, Erik had always been there, holding my hand, giving me strength. Left on my own all of a sudden, I couldn't draw courage from thin air. I couldn't do it.

"He's just a friend," I muttered, trying to make it clear that I had no desire to discuss the topic further.

My sisters seemed to have understood, for they merely nodded and asked no more questions. Sophie led us to the low table in the corner of the room, on which tea was already steaming in three cups. Clarille tried to distract me, but I still saw Sophie gesturing at a maid to take away a fourth cup. Again, I suppressed a sigh. If only Erik had seen how welcome he was...

For a while, we focused on our tea and the cake that was served with it. It was chocolate, which I was sure had been done for my benefit. Under normal circumstances, it would have certainly cheered me up. That day, however, it only reminded me of the chocolate cake Erik had once served me, the one we had never eaten because when it had been time for dessert, we had already been busy with other activities.

After the initial talk about how each of us drank their tea and how big a slice of cake we wanted had died down, none of us seemed to know what to say. Clarille began telling us an anecdote about her housekeeper and her troublesome husband, but she stopped halfway through it and didn't start again.

The uneasy silence was unlike anything I had ever experienced with my sisters. Philippe frequently reduced me to silence, but I always knew what to talk about with Sophie and Clarille. Well, nearly always. That day, I was feeling unusually tongue-tied and shy around them. It was as if by announcing that I'd bring a guest, I had made a promise that I had failed to keep. They had been so hopeful that it would be a nice girl, and now that there was no one, they didn't know how to react.

I could see all that clearly in their faces, in the glances they exchanged when they thought I wasn't watching, but I didn't know what to do about it. I didn't have anything to talk about. I usually told them about my day, for they took an interest in the most ordinary things, but these days, nearly every activity involved Erik. He had become such a big part of my life that when taken out, he left a gaping hole.

I knew that feeling very well. It had been exactly the same after Christine's death. But Erik was not dead, I thought suddenly. He was alive, wonderfully alive. I ought to be able to tell people about him. Maybe not everyone. But I had to tell my sisters about him. I had to tell them how happy he was making me. I couldn't bear to see them like this, struggling for words, clearly thinking that I was still in mourning.

I cleared my throat. At once, my sisters looked up from their tea.

"I have to tell you something," I announced, sitting up straight in my chair. "My friend... my friend is... Actually, he is..."

"He is the Phantom of the Opera," Erik completed my sentence, striding into the room, like an actor who had only waited for his cue. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mesdames."


	43. Chapter FortyThree

**Author's Note: **I've been a very bad author lately - four months without a new chapter! Let's just say that life has kept me very busy. But I do think the latest chapter is worth the wait. Let me know whether you agree!

**Chapter Forty-Three**

My sharp intake of breath was drowned by my sisters' gasps of surprise. If it hadn't been such a serious situation, I'd have laughed about how their hands flew to their mouths and their faces paled at almost exactly the same moment.

As it was, however, I was worried, rather than amused. After all, my sisters were both with child, and I was not sure whether such an excitement was good for them. Why on earth hadn't I thought of that before? If anything happened to one of my sisters or their babies, it would be my fault.

Quickly, I leaned forwards in my seat and grasped their hands. Sitting like that, I could no longer see Erik, but at the moment, my sisters were more important.

"Stay calm," I muttered, trying not to reveal that I was anything but calm myself. "It is quite all right... all right..."

"Raoul... Why is the Opera Ghost standing in my living room?" Sophie asked. She always tried her best to understand every situation, no matter how peculiar.

"Yes, what is he _doing_ here?" Clarille added, sounding rather scared. "Tell us, Raoul," she urged, when I didn't reply straight away.

"He... I..." I stammered, feeling foolish. I knew how tongue-tied I became in such situations. Why hadn't I thought about what exactly to tell them? Why hadn't I written a speech and learned it by heart? "I... Erik?"

I turned around to face him. After all, it was he who had burst into the room and frightened my sisters, so the least he could do was help me out of the situation. Yet the only thing I saw of him was the hem of his cloak whipping out of sight as he left the room.

At once, I was on my feet.

"Excuse me," I hastily called to Sophie and Clarille.

Then I was out of the room, too, chasing after Erik down the corridor. He was not exactly running, but walking quickly, and since his legs were longer than mine, I had trouble catching up with him.

Fortunately, my knowledge of the house worked in my advantage. Erik had turned the corner and ended up in the servants' part of the building. He tried door after door, probably in order to escape through a window, but he was out of luck. I knew for a fact that ever since Sophie had had problems with theft among the servants, all the doors in the corridor were locked during the day.

Having tried every door in the corridor, Erik seemed to realise that he could not escape that easily. He turned around. His face showed no surprise to see me there. He must have heard my laboured breathing as I hurried after him.

"Would you be so kind as to let me through, so I can leave the house?" he asked. His voice was perfectly polite, yet devoid of any emotion that showed that he knew me, let alone cared for me. I might as well have been a doorman at the opera.

He took a few steps towards me, but I blocked his path, shaking my head wordlessly. At that moment, it was all I could do. I was still so out of breath that any form of verbal communication was out of the question.

Sighing, Erik took a step to the side, trying to get around me. Again, I blocked his path. He moved to the other side, and I did the same. It was like a peculiar kind of dance routine. I knew that if Erik decided to force his way out of the house, I wouldn't stand a chance. He could have shoved me aside in an instant. Yet it seemed that he was reluctant to touch me.

At long last, I had regained my breath enough to speak.

"I don't want you to leave," I told him simply, blocking his path yet again.

Erik gave an annoyed grunt, but still he made no move to push me aside.

"I prefer not to stay where I am not wanted," he replied, still in that peculiar formal voice. "Your invitation was very kind, but it is obvious that I am upsetting your sisters. So I would rather leave. I have matters to attend at the opera, and – "

"No, you haven't," I interrupted him. "That is not why you want to leave. You are frightened."

For a moment, I felt the strange urge to laugh. The mighty Opera Ghost – frightened of having tea with two ladies of the Parisian society? Then, for the first time since we stood there, I looked at him properly. I looked behind the formal voice and the impassive face, and I saw fear and confusion in his beautiful eyes.

"And what if I _am_ frightened?" he asked in a small voice.

Comprehension dawned on me in an instant. Of course he was frightened. I realised how much courage it must have cost him to come along to my sister's house, to appear in front of Sophie and Clarille. And I hadn't helped him at all. I had been there for my sisters, not for the man I loved. It had been important to comfort them, yes. But I hadn't anticipated how much my reaction had hurt Erik. He must have thought that I was on their side, unwilling to help him, not even making the most basic of introductions.

"I am sorry, Erik," I told him quietly. "I should have done more to help you."

I extended a hand and gently ran it down the unmasked side of his face. He leaned into the touch, the expression on his face so pitiful that I felt a lump of emotion swell in my throat. I loved that man so much. I hadn't meant to hurt him.

I leaned in for a kiss, but Erik turned away.

"What if someone sees us?" he breathed.

"They'd see two people who love each other," I gave back calmly. "I don't think there's anything bad about it."

It was easy for me to be brave. I knew that hardly anyone ever entered the servants' corridor during the day. Then again, I had to start being brave someday, so why not there and then?

My words seemed to be good enough for Erik. His lips met mine in the sweetest of kisses, while his arms pulled me close. In that moment, there could have been dozens of people watching us, and I wouldn't have cared – or, in fact, noticed. I was far too busy kissing Erik and caressing his face.

"It's a shame that all of those doors are locked," Erik remarked in between kisses.

"There was a maid..." I explained, gasping as Erik pressed his hips against mine. "She took money... from the other servants' rooms... That's why the doors... are locked... Only my sister... has a key..."

"Good thing I don't need keys," he muttered.

He moved away from me and took a small silver object out of his pocket. Then he turned towards the door right behind him. As I watched him, I felt at least part of my blood rush back into my head. It occurred to me that Erik could have easily opened one of the doors when looking for an exit before. Perhaps he hadn't been quite that desperate to leave after all.

After just a minute or two, the door clocked open. Erik took me by the hand and led me... into a broom closet. He paused at the threshold and looked over his shoulder at me, frowning.

"Your sister locks her broom closet?" he asked incredulously.

"It's the broom closet which the servants use to clean their own rooms," I told him. "The maid hid the stolen money in here..."

Erik looked so crestfallen that I couldn't help but laugh. It was obvious that he had hoped for a more convenient place, at least one with a bed in it. After a moment, however, he joined in the laughter.

"Well, it's not exactly what I wanted," he commented, looking at the shelves full of soap, old pieces of cloth and feather dusters and the assortment of brooms and buckets in the corner. There was barely enough space for two people to stand. "But it'll do."

With these words, he pulled me over the threshold and closed the door behind me. At once, we were plunged into total darkness. In a bigger room, I might have been anxious about the lack of light and the possibility that someone might lurk in a corner. In here, however, we had to stand so close together that I could feel Erik, even if I couldn't see him. Besides, who would have wanted to lurk in a broom closet?

"No light?" Erik asked. "Well, I suppose the servants here know better places for such encounters."

"Certainly, " I agreed. "But there's no time for us to look for them. I don't know how long we've got before my sisters will form a search party and come looking for us."

"They are very protective of their younger brother, aren't they?" he wanted to know. "I can assure you that I'll return you in one piece. But not just yet."

It was a sign of how well I knew him that I could actually hear him smirk. He only had to take a tiny step forwards, then his body touched mine, from chest to... the more pleasant regions of our bodies.

I gave an involuntary moan. The situation was absurd, and yet thrilling. In my head, I knew that no one would come and find us. After all, everyone knew that the doors in this corridor were locked during the day, so why should they check them? Still, the thought of the risk that Erik and I were taking, just to be together, sent a flurry of anticipation into the pit of my stomach. My manhood stirred in my trousers, and Erik gave a small moan as it pressed against him.

Once more, our lips met in a heated kiss. Erik soon had me pressed against what had to be the only part of the wall not occupied by shelves or brooms. I couldn't help admiring his good memory for a room he had only seen once. Or could he actually see in the dark?

This was not the time to find out. I was far too busy unbuttoning Erik's trousers, while he did the same with mine. We didn't speak, but we knew that we both wanted the same: give each other pleasure as quickly as possible.

There was a lot of fumbling in the dark – not to mention a moment of intense pain as I pulled back my hand a little too enthusiastically and hit it hard on the wall behind me. I gritted my teeth and nearly bit off Erik's tongue, which happened to be in my mouth at the time. He gave an irritated grunt, nudged my other hand aside and undid his trousers himself.

The next moment, he had pulled out both my manhood and his and was rubbing them against each other. I moaned, nearly biting Erik's tongue again. To be on the safe side, I let my head drop to his shoulder, where the thick fabric of his cloak prevented me from doing further harm. My hand took over for one of his, and before long, we were massaging each other's manhood quickly, trying to give each other as much pleasure as we could, given the rather extraordinary circumstances.

If someone had happened to walk down the corridor in those minutes, they would have heard peculiar sounds coming from the broom closet: gasps and moans, followed by two little outcries as we found our release. As it was, we wasted no moment thinking about whether someone might have heard us. Our attention was solely fixed on each other.

By the time we re-emerged from the closet, our cheeks were still slightly flushed, but at least we were no longer panting. I went out in the corridor first, pulling Erik after me by the hand.

"I suppose you still want me to meet your sisters," he remarked.

"Certainly," I replied. "You didn't think I gave you all _that_..." I gestures back at the closet. "...for nothing, did you?"

"Oh!" he made in an indignant voice, raising his eyebrow. "So you only did it because you wanted something in return?"

We continued arguing amicably while I steered him gently back the way we had come. Not for a moment did I think that he didn't realise where we were going, but he neither commented on it nor tried to run away again.

The door to the sitting room was still open. Sophie and Clarille looked up when we entered the room. My hand was firmly holding Erik's, and I rather felt like a mother dragging along a reluctant child. Erik tried to pull his hand away, but I clung on. This time, I would stand by him.

"Sophie? Clarille?" I said, my voice shaking only slightly with nerves. "This is Erik. He... he and I..." I cleared my throat, trying to ignore my thumping heart. "I love him."

For a moment, there was total silence. It was as if no one dared breathe.

"Oh," Sophie said eventually. "Oh... Tea, anyone?"


	44. Chapter FortyFour

**Author's note:** My dear readers. It has been a very long time since you last heard from me. I have gone through a rough time, but ultimately, it has made me a stronger person. Now, let's see whether it has made me a better writer, too, shall we? As always feedback is highly appreciated. After all, I want to know whether someone is still reading my story, or whether it'll only be Raoul, Erik and me for the rest of the journey. Buckle up your seatbelts and enjoy the ride. Yours sincerely, Jenny Wren

**Chapter Forty-Four**

I had to hand it to my sisters: They knew perfectly how to behave in society. I knew that there were many men (my brother prominent among them) who thought women to be a kind of liability, especially on social gatherings. _One never knows how they're going to act,_ I had heard Philippe say more than once. _They're so irrational. They can't be relied on. They will blush or giggle at the wrong moment, and when you tell them to stop, they only look at you with those big innocent eyes. It's irritating beyond measure._

No one who saw Sophie and Clarille sit on the sofa, looking at Erik and me, could have called them irrational or a liability. I knew they had to be shocked by my bold statement, but they didn't show it. I could hardly believe that Sophie had actually invited Erik to have tea with them.

Judging by the look on his face (at least the part of it that I could see), Erik was just as stunned as I was. I half expected him to run out again. Then again, I had forgotten that he too possessed refined manners and knew how to behave in society.

"I'd be delighted, Mesdames" he said, sitting down in an armchair opposite my sisters.

I hastened to settle down in the armchair next to him. I would have liked to take Erik's hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, but I sensed that seeing it would have been too much for my sisters at that moment. Besides, Erik's hands were busy. Already, they were reaching out for the tea cup and saucer that Sophie was handing him. Already, his tea spoon was stirring in a few drops of lemon. Already, he had started a pleasant conversation about Sophie's home and its architecture.

Before I knew what was going on, I had been handed a tea cup as well, and we were in the middle of a perfectly normal tea-time at my sister's house, the likes of which I had taken part in dozens of times before. It was almost a little unsettling to see how Erik managed to fit in. Of course, his clothes and the mask made him look rather extraordinary in Sophie's sitting room, but his behaviour was friendly and polite, as were his contributions to the conversation. If someone had walked by outside the room, they'd have never guessed that the de Chagny family was having tea with the infamous Phantom of the Opera.

From the topic of architecture, the conversation moved smoothly on to the opera and the people who worked there. My sisters attended the performances regularly wherever they found the time to do so. Clarille in particular was fascinated by gossip about singers and dancers. One anecdote was followed by another. Erik even made my sisters laugh by telling them about Marie, one of the chorus girls, who was well-known for her superstition and had tried to talk the managers into giving her the day off every time a performance was to be held on Friday 13th.

It was a pleasant conversation. It was a thousand times better than I could have hoped for. And yet... somehow, I was not content. I had summoned up my courage and told my sisters that I loved Erik, and they had not reacted at all. I had been scared of their criticism, but this was nearly as bad. I didn't know what was going on in their heads. Did they believe that if they acted as though I hadn't said anything extraordinary, I would forget it, too?

"And then she opened the door of the dressing room, and a black cat jumped at her!" Erik was just saying. I realised that I had missed several minutes of the conversation. "Marie ran down the corridor, as fast as the wind, locked herself in the dormitory and refused to come out for several hours!"

My sisters laughed, and I hastened to do the same, even though I had only heard the final part of the story. I didn't want the others to notice how absent-minded I had been.

Sophie reached for the tea pot and tried to fill Erik's cup again, but nothing came out.

"Claire!" she called, looking to the door to see where the maid was, but Clarille was already on her feet.

"I can fetch some more tea," she offered readily, taking the tea pot from Sophie. "I need to stretch my legs a little anyway. It's good for the little one." She patted her stomach with a loving glance downwards.

Quickly, I jumped to my feet as well.

"I'll help you," I announced. "I... I need to stretch my legs as well."

My sisters looked at me curiously, and Erik gave me a sideways glance, but I didn't care. It had only just occurred to me that this was my chance to speak to one of my sisters alone – possibly my only chance. I had to seize it. I was not worried about leaving Erik alone with Sophie. The two of them would surely get along for a little longer, even without my presence.

I took the tea pot from Clarille and walked straight to the door. Glancing over my shoulder to see whether my sister was following me, I noticed that she exchanged a tiny smile and a nod with Sophie. I couldn't help wondering whether they had planned for one of them to talk to me on her own, but I thought it didn't matter either way. After all, I wanted to speak to her as well.

Clarille and I didn't speak on our way to the kitchen, which in itself was rather alarming. We usually talked all the time when we were together. There had been rare occasions on which Sophie's calm manner had made it hard for me to know what to say, but I had never had that problem with my younger sister. This silence was new and a little frightening.

When we entered the kitchen, the cook and two maids were standing there, busy with their chores. The moment the door opened, the cook stopped chopping carrots.

"Madame!" he exclaimed in scandalised tones. "You don't have to fetch tea yourself. Why didn't you call for a maid?"

"I felt like fetching it myself," Clarille explained, handing him the tea pot.

I remained in the background, not wanting to give the cook a chance to be shocked that I had come to the kitchen as well. I watched as he filled it again, arranged some biscuits on a plate and thrust both into the hands of the maid standing nearest to him.

"You help Madame carry this," he ordered briskly. "Go ahead! Quick!"

"No, no," Clarille protested, taking the tea pot from the maid. I hastened to do the same with the plate of biscuits. "We can carry them ourselves."

The maid looked from us to the cook and back, utterly confused. After a few moments, she curtseyed and went back to her original task of peeling potatoes, exchanging a tiny smile with the other maid. She seemed to have decided that although Clarille and I were not part of this household, we were higher up in the hierarchy that the cook. Therefore, our orders were more important than his. I had seen such displays of power a hundred times, and I could still not quite understand them. Being a servant had to be very hard work, and not only physically.

On our way back to the sitting room, I shared that thought with Clarille, and she agreed with me. It was an easy subject for both of us because we agreed that servants had to be treated well, but that even so, not all problems among them could be avoided. I knew that it was not the topic we had to discuss, but at least we were talking again. Everything was better than that long awkward silence.

Shortly before we reached the sitting room, Clarille stopped at a door which I knew led to the library.

"Don't we want to go in here for a moment?" she asked. "I... I want to show you something."

I nodded and followed her into the room. Not for a moment did I believe that she really wanted to show me something, but I was curious what she would come up with. My sister's ideas were very ingenious at times.

Clarille and I put down the tea pot and plate on a side table next to an armchair. She then led me to one of the bookshelves.

"Look at this," she said, pulling out a heavy, very old-looking book. "Sophie told me about it. A marvellous description about a travel to India."

I merely looked at her, raising an eyebrow in polite disbelief. _That_ was the best she could come up with? She had to be very nervous.

"I know that book," I told her quietly. "I was the one who gave it to Sophie as a birthday present last year."

Clarille blushed.

"Oh..." she made. "Right. Well..."

"Do you wish to discuss my relationship with Erik?" I asked bluntly.

"Well..." she repeated. "Now that you mention it..."

I couldn't bear to watch her squirm like that. Clarille had always been the most open of all us siblings, saying the things others were afraid to say. I pulled her into a brief, but heartfelt embrace.

"I am sorry that I'm causing you so much trouble," I muttered when I let go of her after a few moments.

"You're not causing any trouble," she protested, shaking her head. "It's just... I'm worried about you, little brother. What's... what's happened to you?"

"I have fallen in love," I replied simply.

Clarille didn't say anything. She turned away from me and walked over to the window, staring out into the garden. I joined her. For a few minutes, we simply stood there, she on one end of the window and I on the other. I wanted to hear what Clarille had to say – after all, it was the reason I had come here – but I knew better than to rush her into anything. I needed to give her time to think, to take in the new situation.

"It's our fault, isn't it?" she muttered, just when I had given up hope that she'd start talking anytime soon. "Sophie's and mine."

"What do you mean?" I asked, bewildered. This was not a reaction I had expected.

Clarille didn't look at me, but continued to gaze out of the window as she explained:

"We left you alone with Philippe. We moved out to lead our new lives, but we didn't stop to think what would become of you, even though we knew Philippe would not look after you properly, would not give you the love you needed. We were so happy for you when you met Christine again because, whether she was suitable as your wife or not, she loved you. You must have felt so alone when she... passed away, but again, Sophie and I were too occupied with our own lives to help you. Philippe has always been useless at understanding how other people feel, let alone help them when they need it. It's no wonder that you turned to someone who understood your grief."

At that point, she turned towards me, and I was startled to see tears in her eyes.

"Really, Raoul, I understand," she finished in a small voice. "He is an unusual choice for a friend, but... I understand."

I bit my lip and glanced at the floor, not sure what to say to her. It was a comforting thought that my sister understood and approved of what had indeed been my initial reason for turning to Erik. Yet that comfort was dwarfed by the disappointment that settled in the pit of my stomach like a stone falling into a well. Clearly, Clarille did not understand that I loved Erik in the same way that she loved her husband. She seemed to think he had become my best friend, maybe like a replacement for the kind older brother Philippe had never been.

Yet, how could I say something like that to her, when she was so anguished about her presumed part in my loneliness and misery? How could I explain something so complex that I didn't truly understand myself?

"I _love_ Erik," I told her, slowly and clearly, looking her straight in the eye. "I love him, Clarille. The way you love Alexandre and Sophie loves Richard."

My sister still looked as though she didn't take in a word, so I decided to become more specific.

"We _love _each other," I stressed. "He and I... we... you know..." My voice trailed off as I vaguely gestured at my body, feeling embarrassed and angry at myself for having mentioned in the first place something that I knew I couldn't get through with. Clarille and I could happily discuss most topics, but the physical aspect of love was not one of them. I doubted whether even Sophie and she talked about such things.

Clarille's eyes widened, and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

"What?" she muttered after a moment, letting her hand fall limply to her side. "You mean he and you... share the same bed?"

I nodded briefly. For a fleeting moment, I had to suppress the urge to smile. _Not only the same bed..._

A new expression came into my sister's face. The anguish and pity were still there, but now there was something else... anger.

"He took advantage of you!" she exclaimed, her voice rising along with her temper. "You came to him to share your grief, and he took advantage of you when you were most vulnerable! He... he..."

Clarille's outrage momentarily rendered her speechless, and I seized my chance at once.

"No!" I shouted, my temper rising as well. She was my sister, and I loved her dearly, but I would not let her turn my relationship with Erik into something ugly and hateful. "Erik would never do that! He loves me! What we have is beautiful. Come with me!"

I grabbed my sister by the hand and marched her across the room. I yanked open the door and pulled Clarille back down the corridor towards the sitting room. She protested, but I ignored her. My actions were fuelled by anger. There was no room for conscious thought.

I could hear the voices of Sophie and Erik through the door to the sitting room as I paused briefly in front of it, fumbling with the door handle.

"What is wrong, Raoul?" Clarille asked, gasping for breath as we crossed the threshold and I let go of her.

"Raoul?" Sophie and Erik jumped to their feet in alarm as we came hurrying into the room. Sophie pressed a hand to her stomach, and Clarille echoed the gesture.

I made straight for Erik.

"You think that Erik is only my friend, or that he took advantage of me!" I called as I went, addressing both my sisters. "Well, you're wrong! I love him, and he loves me, and everything we do happens because we both want it! We'll show you!"

With these words, I pulled Erik into a bone-crushing embrace and pressed my lips against his. Our teeth bumped against each other, and I tasted blood on my tongue as I pushed it into his mouth, but I didn't care.

I would show them.


	45. Chapter FortyFive

**Author's note: **Again, it has been a long time. No personal tragedies to blame this time. I've simply been very, very busy. But I will try to update more often now. This chapter is dedicated to Mrs.T'Abby S'chn, who sent me a PM, asking when I'd be continuing my story. Thanks a lot. Now, I hope you remember where we left our star-struck lovers. To us, it has been a year, but mere moments have passed for them. Enjoy! Yours truly, Jenny Wren

**Chapter Forty-Five**

I had never kissed like that before. In the past, I had experienced tender kisses, loving kisses, anxious kisses, reassuring kisses and passionate kisses. I had never experienced a kiss so fuelled by anger before. It was burning in the pit of my stomach, as if I had taken the tea Clarille and I had fetched and poured it straight down my throat.

I had hardly ever been angry at my sisters, but now I was furious. How dared they presume that they knew what Erik and I were feeling? They had never even met Erik before, only heard foolish and untrue rumours about him. How dared they suggest that he was taking advantage of me, just when I had overcome my own anxiety and was confident that he'd never do such a thing?

Most of the time, I closed my eyes while Erik and I were kissing, but that time, I kept them open. I needed to communicate a silent message to him, I needed him to understand why I was doing it.

And understand he did. I could tell from the steady gaze of his beautiful eyes. He kissed me gently, lovingly. If there was hot tea in my stomach, Erik was slowly pouring cold water on top of it, until it didn't hurt anymore... until the truth had cooled down enough to accept.

When I felt that it was enough, I disengaged myself from Erik, but kept my arm around his waist possessively even so as I faced my sisters. He and I belonged together now, and I wouldn't let either of them forget it in a hurry.

They looked thunder-struck, even more so than when Erik had put in his first appearance. It occurred to me that they had never seen me engage in such an activity before. My displays of affection for Christine had always been very chaste. As far as I could recall, the most they had ever witnessed had been a gentle kiss.

Well, I thought with a sudden bitterness, at least they didn't pity me anymore or think me a poor victim of Erik. I had made that very clear.

The trouble was that now, neither of them could look me in the eye. Sophie was still sitting on the sofa, in exactly the same position as she had when I had dragged Erik to his feet, staring down at the tea-set, as if she had been asked to memorise the flowery pattern. Clarille was slowly wandering over to her and sank down on the sofa as well.

Sophie looked up at Clarille as the latter sat down beside her. There was some sort of silent communication going on between them, but I couldn't tell what it was anymore. I wasn't part of that circle. It was as if that one fact about my life, the fact that I loved Erik, truly _loved _him, had changed me in their eyes for good.

I felt a gentle squeeze of my shoulder.

"Shall we leave?" Erik asked in a low voice. "Or shall I leave? You could still try to talk to them and –"

"No!" I mumbled, gazing up at him like a frightened child. "I don't... I tried... and... just take me home, Erik!"

"As you wish, my love," he gave back. "As you wish."

The look he gave me was so tender that I nearly burst into tears. For that one moment, no one in the world mattered but him. In that moment, I understood that Erik would love me for all times, no matter what.

But then I looked back at my sisters, and my heart gave a painful twinge in my chest. I had _so_ hoped they would understand. I had told myself that even if they didn't understand, they'd at least accept it, and that would be enough. But now that they seemed to do neither, I realised just how much I had been hoping for real understanding.

Why couldn't they be happy for me, happy that I had found love, even if it wasn't the kind of love they had imagined? Love was love, wasn't it?

I shook my head sadly, as if someone had asked the question aloud and I was supposed to answer it. Love was not love, at least not for most people. There was love... and then there was socially acceptable love. I didn't doubt that my sisters loved their husbands and were loved by them in return. And yet, I couldn't help but wonder whether they would have also pursued their emotions if the men had been coach-drivers or footmen instead of having more respectable positions in society.

We had all grown up together. I could recall my father yelling at Clarille because she had dared make friends with the milliner's daughter. I could recall him praising Philippe for making fun of a clumsy servant dropping a tray of glasses... right after dismissing said servant, of course. _We must all know our place_, Father had always said. _If we forget our place, society as we know it will cease to exist._

And now I had taken all conventions and shattered them. I had not only fallen in love with a man, but also with a man who was despised by society. I, who had never dared put one toe out of line, had committed two such crimes at the same time. I could hardly fault my sisters for being shocked. But even so, my heart was heavy with disappointment.

"Erik and I will go now," I said, my voice sounding strangely hollow in my own ears. "There's no need to see us to the door."

I turned away from my sisters and strode away. My hand slipped from Erik's waist and seized his hand instead. His grasp was warm and comforting.

I opened the door and led Erik down the corridor and towards the front door. He knew better than to speak, and I was grateful for it. I had tried so hard to be strong in front of my sisters, not to show my true emotions, but I knew how fragile my current state was. One wrong word, and I'd weep like a child.

We had almost reached the door when –

"Does he make you happy?" a slightly breathless voice rang out behind us.

I turned, curious in spite of myself.

There was Sophie, with Clarille hovering at her shoulder anxiously. It was Sophie who had spoken, but it was clear that once again, she was speaking for the both of them.

Involuntarily, I glanced around to see whether there were any servants to witness the scene. My father's constant admonishing never to make oneself vulnerable in front of a servant seemed to have shown some results after all. But I needn't have worried. There was no one there, only my sisters, Erik and me.

Only then did I listen to the question in my head again. It was such a peculiar thing to ask, after all that had been said and done. It was the kind of thing I would have loved to hear from them sooner, but now I wasn't sure how to react. Well, I thought, the truth was always a good place to start.

"Yes," I replied simply. "He makes me happy."

I beamed at Erik, telling him without words that he was making me very happy indeed... perhaps happier than I had been in my whole life... certainly happier than I had been after Christine had died.

The glance I gave my sisters a moment later was defiant. Strangely, I no longer cared whether they approved or disapproved of my answer. They had already shown me what they thought of my love. It couldn't become any worse than it was.

"Then we..." Sophie cleared her throat, looking awkward. "Then we are happy for you."

"Yes, we are," Clarille said, nodding emphatically.

She suddenly left Sophie's side and rushed forward, pulling me into a tight embrace. After a moment, I returned it, patting her gently on the back.

"Take care of yourself, little brother," she whispered into my ear. Her hair was tickling me, the scent of her rosy soap so familiar that tears sprang to my eyes.

"I will," I gave back, my voice slightly hoarse. "And so will Erik."

As we let go of each other, I noticed that Sophie had come closer as well. Erik had fallen back a few steps, not leaving me completely, just giving my other sister the space to join me.

"Are you planning to tell Philippe?" Sophie asked, her voice full of concern.

"No!" I said quickly. "Of course I'm not going to tell Philippe!"

"Tell me what?" a voice called behind me.

I spun around. There, on the door-step, stood my brother, his eyes narrowed as he gazed at my startled face.


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

**Author's note:** I'm not meaning to fall into the trap of repeating myself, but I do have to say that, again, it's been a long time. Life is stressful, but all the same, I want to continue my tale. This chapter is dedicated to Sweet-Hearted SilverEars, who reminded me that even after all this time, there are people out there other than myself who want to know where this story is going. Well, shall we have a look? Yours truly, Jenny Wren

**Chapter Forty-Six**

Words failed me. I was never very good at coming up with a witty response at the best of times, and that was clearly not the best of times. I gazed at Philippe, wondering what on earth he was doing here.

Had he somehow sensed what was happening and hurried to join us? I had sometimes read about such events taking place in books. Yet even as the thought entered my mind, I dismissed it. Philippe didn't even know (or indeed care) what I was feeling when we were in the same room together, let alone when I was miles away. No, it could only be a coincidence.

"Tell Philippe what?" my brother repeated. He was smiling, but there was a suspicious gleam in his eyes that put me in mind of our childhood. He had so delighted in telling on me for every transgression he'd come across. "What are the three of you plotting?" he added.

_The three of us?_

His words made me realise that instead of worrying what he was doing there, I should have worried about something else altogether. Had he seen Erik?

But there was no Erik to be seen, as a quick glance sideways confirmed. Once again, Erik had succeeded in disappearing, probably as soon as he saw the entrance door opening, which my sisters and I, caught in conversation and emotion, had overlooked.

"Tell you that... that..." I stammered, my mind completely blank.

"...that we've started making plans for your birthday!" Clarille suddenly piped up.

I shot her a quick look of admiration. It was true that it would be our brother's birthday in a few weeks' time, but I'd have never thought of taking it as an excuse. What a clever sister I had!

At once, every trace of suspicion vanished from Philippe's face. His brow was smooth, and his smile finally reached his eyes.

"I see," he said. "Well, in that case, I haven't heard or seen anything, of course." He gave us a big wink.

It suddenly occurred to me how fortunate it was that Philippe had never planned a career as an actor. The performance he was just putting on was simply terrible. I stifled a chuckle. Just because my brother was in a good mood now didn't mean that he couldn't lash out in the next moment. He hated the feeling that anyone was making fun of him.

"Well, what brings you here?" Sophie asked, coming forward to meet Philippe. "Has anything happened?"

I could understand the reasoning behind her question. Sophie lived miles away from Paris. As far as I could recall, my brother, who always talked about how busy he was, had never come all the way out there unannounced before.

"As a matter of fact, something has indeed happened," he replied, nodding gravely. "Shall we go and sit down?"

The last thing I wanted was to get involved in a long and probably tedious conversation with Philippe, and from the look on Clarille's face, she shared my opinion. But there was nothing we could do. We had to follow Sophie and Philippe back to the library, had to sit down at the table we had vacated mere minutes ago. I made a point in taking the seat that Erik had been resting in before. I'd have hated for my brother to sit there.

"Four cups and saucers?" Philippe commented, looking down at the table. "Have you had another visitor?"

"Yes," Clarille replied smoothly. "Mme. Gadois joined us for a cup of tea. She left only a few minutes before you came."

I smiled, glad that again, Clarille had come up with such a credible story. Mme. Gadois was a kind elderly lady who lived right next door to Sophie. I knew that she came over for a cup of tea at least once a week.

From the blank look on Philippe's face, I could tell that he had no idea who Mme. Gadois was, even though I knew for a fact that he had met her on several occasions. His memory was only good when it came to pretty young women. Anyone else wasn't of much concern to him. Then again, his desire to appear knowledgeable didn't allow him to ask who she was. That would have been akin to admitting a weakness and therefore strictly forbidden.

"Ah, Mme. Gadois," he muttered, nodding. "I see... I see."

"Let me ring for the maid to get you a fresh cup and saucer," Sophie remarked, doing so even as she spoke.

Out of habit, we fell silent while the maid entered the room, removed the cup and saucer that Sophie handed her and replaced them with new ones from the cupboard, then fetched more tea and biscuits from the kitchen. My sisters and I still didn't know what Philippe wanted to discuss with us, and I personally didn't believe it could be anything to be secretive about, but we had all been brought up with the rule never to talk about private matters in front of servants.

"So, what brings you here?" I asked, as soon as the door closed behind the maid. I wasn't all that interested, but the sooner my brother said what he had come to say, the sooner I could leave and join Erik. I wondered whether he'd go back to Paris on his own or wait for me.

"Well, my reason for coming here is exactly the same as yours, little brother," he replied, beaming.

I felt the irrational urge to burst into laughter. I highly doubted that Philippe had come here to reveal his relationship with a man. Then I realised that he had to be referring to our supposed birthday plans.

"You want to discuss your birthday?" I commented, sharing a glance with Clarille, who smiled and bit her lip. She'd obviously been entertaining the same momentary thought.

"Indeed," Philippe said. "Let me tell you that I am touched that you've already started making plans. I hope you haven't gone to too much trouble."

"Oh no," I replied, determined not to catch Clarille's eye this time, or I'd surely burst into laughter. "Do not worry about us. Why do you ask?"

"As it happens," he started importantly, looking around to see whether we were all paying attention to him. "I have already decided on the perfect way to celebrate my birthday: We will have a masked ball!"

At his words, a tidal wave of memories swept me off my feet, carrying me far, far away from the table and the conversation. Christine and I as white and black domino... she had looked so beautiful in her costume... if I had known back then how little time she had left... if only we had made more of it, gone away where no one knew us... perhaps she wouldn't have grown ill... God, Christine...

"Christine..." The word spilled from my lips before I could make a conscious decision whether to utter it, scalding my lips far worse than boiling tea.

I was shaking, dimly aware of Clarille getting to her feet and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"Don't you think it is a little... insensitive a choice?" I heard Sophie ask, as though from far away. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I wanted to hear Philippe's answer, see the expression on his face.

For a moment or two, he simply looked uncomprehending, just like he had done at the mention of Sophie's neighbour earlier. I couldn't believe my eyes. Had he truly forgotten everything about Christine already? Then his brow cleared.

"Ah...," he made, in what he obviously thought was a warm, concerned voice. "I see. I understand. I truly do."

If I hadn't felt so bad, it would have been amusing to see Philippe so flustered. It was not something I was accustomed to seeing.

My brother reached over and patted my arm awkwardly for a few moments. Then he seemed to decide that he had shown enough sympathy, for he gave me a broad smile.

"Raoul," he said. "Of course I understand how this idea might provoke... unpleasant memories for you. However, you mustn't think that I didn't consider you at all. On the contrary! My masked ball will be the perfect occasion for you to mingle with some of the finest families in Paris. Think of the opportunities... the conversations..."

"...the girls," I finished under my breath. I knew perfectly well that the kind of mingling Philippe preferred took place between him and as many girls as he could persuade.

Philippe's smile grew wider, and to my horror, I realised that he had heard me.

"Now you speak like a true man of the de Chagny family at last!" he exclaimed happily. "Of course there will be plenty of girls, and I am more than willing to help you choose the best."

I threw my sisters a pained look. Clarille gripped my shoulder harder, and Sophie gave me a sympathetic smile, but neither of them spoke up. They knew that they were to keep their silence when Philippe held forth. It was not their place to criticise our brother or his plans. Most unfortunately, it was not my place to do those things, either.

Philippe waited a moment or two for me to express my happiness about meeting girls. When I did no such thing, he continued,

"The ball will be held in four weeks' time, right on the night of my birthday, in our house. The servants have already started making preparations, and the invitations will go out this week. It will be the most exciting social occasion that Paris has seen all year. But don't worry, little brother..." He gave a short laugh. "...The Phantom of the Opera is certainly not on my guest list."

My sisters and I barely had time to exchange a look when it happened: Out of the shadowy corners, Erik spoke, as loudly and clearly as if he had been in the room, even though he was nowhere to be seen:

"Oh, M. le Comte, I wouldn't dream of missing the occasion. I am sure it will be a night none of us will ever forget."


End file.
